


Sound and Color

by WyldMagic



Category: Wandersong (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Novelization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2019-10-24 19:45:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WyldMagic/pseuds/WyldMagic
Summary: The dream was meant to be forgotten.[a loose novelization of wandersong]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sound & Color: [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JrrOUmgcWBs ]  
> [ https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/alabamashakes/soundandcolor.html ]
> 
> Bard is Bard (they/them)

     The dream was meant to be forgotten.

     It was never intended as more than a test, a means of finding heroes fit to carry a burden too painful for the universe to bear. Bard knew it was probably nothing, but that morning they sat up in bed with a curious headache and the nagging, persistent feeling that they needed to remember this dream.

     A sword. A bolt of lightning. A rainbow-haired angel.

_      Maybe I shouldn’t have oolong tea before bed, _ they thought, throwing on a pair of forest-colored trousers and a cream blouse. The empty mug with its chipped bottom rim sat on a coaster on their nightstand.  _ Caffeine affects me too strongly… maybe I’ll stick with water from now on. _

     They stretched and ran through a few arpeggios as they bustled around their tiny cottage, clearing counters and brewing breakfast, tidying up an already immaculate living space in the rare event someone came over to visit later.

     No one ever did, but Bard kept it ready anyway.

     Langtree was a half hour’s walk away, separated by broadleaf forest and a sprawling meadow. Nobody aside from Bard’s enigmatic friend Mask ventured out this far, and they never stayed long.

     Maybe Bard would see them today. The morning was full of possibility.

_      And it’s barely nine o’clock, _ Bard thought as they set their plate to dry on a dish rack. Shrugging on a short capelet and donning their cap, they blew a kiss to the house and stepped out into the day.

     Dew clung to the grass outside, slick against the soles of Bard’s boots as they set out across the meadow. They breathed in the rich, earthy scent and smiled; the forest oaks and birches were starting to turn color around the edges. Autumn wouldn’t start officially for another week, but Bard was eager to see their familiar landscape ignite in an array of red and gold.

     Summer’s wildflower bloom had mostly faded, but patches of brightly colored flowers dotted the landscape and brushed against Bard as they crossed the field.

_      Maybe I’ll go to Langtree today, _ they thought, angling towards the forest.

     An oriole pecking at grass seeds chirruped as they passed, and the two sang a short duet before the bird flew off in search of a better meal. Bard whistled it a farewell tune.

_      Even the birds are in a good mood! That has to be a good sign. _

     “Morning, wanderer!”

     Bard perked up. Down the hill was a familiar face—or, rather, familiar mask, as their friend’s real face was covered by a contoured piece of wood carved in a permanently neutral expression. They raised a hand in greeting, and Bard jogged down to meet them.

     “Good morning, Mask!” Bard said.

     Mask tilted their head in acknowledgement. They always dressed like a sunset, and today’s gaudy arrangement consisted of more pinks and yellows than Bard had ever seen, complete with little bells along their gaucho’s trim.

     Bard’s eyes watered the longer they stared; shaking their head clear, they put on a bright smile.

     “You seem awful chipper,” Mask said. “Well, more chipper than usual, I guess. You dream something good last night?”

     “Yes, but I can’t remember it all!” Bard said. They fell into step beside Mask. “I was in a colorful land, surrounded by shooting stars…”

     They relayed the dream as best they could, filling the air with their voice as the two of them crossed into the woods. Dreams never made sense out loud. Bard had tried explaining them to Mask before and got the distinct impression their friend may have drifted into a daydream of their own.

     But...

     They had to try. That nagging feeling in the back of their skull demanded it.

     Wasteland. Crashing stars. A sword, its blade reflecting shadow, too violent to wield even against a towering enemy. Despair. Panic.

     Song. 

     Music against darkness. 

     Brilliant light, unending peace, a pale angel with a voice like bells and a rainbow brush stroke of hair. 

     Her words were static in Bard’s memory.

     Bard gestured wildly as they talked. Mask nodded along, their face an ever-neutral slate.

     “Sounds interesting,” they said when Bard finished. They bent and plucked a flower from a nearby tree trunk, handing it to Bard as they followed the trail to Langtree.

     Bard tucked the flower behind an ear. “It was so bizarre!” they said. “I’ve been trying to figure out what the angel told me, but I just can’t remember her words...”

     “Might be a good thing. Dreams don’t often make sense, let alone mean more than the night tryin’ to pass the time.” Mask patted Bard on the shoulder. “Don’t trouble yourself too much.”

     “I know,” Bard said, “but I… it sounds strange, but I  _ really _ think I’m supposed to remember what she said.”

     Mask shrugged. The bells on their pants jingled as they walked.

     The woods thinned here, and through the trees Bard could just make out a cluster of brick-and-wood houses colored warmly by the sun. Langtree’s bell tower shone in the morning light. 

     Mask gestured at a fork in the trail that led deeper into the woods.

     “Listen, I gotta split here,” they said, “the dance is calling me, y’know?”

     Bard chuckled. Mask  _ always _ followed the call of the enigmatic dance.

     “But listen, it’s a beautiful morning, so be sure to take the time and smell the flowers. I take it you’re heading to Langtree to see the ghosts?”

     Bard froze. 

     “Ghosts?” they asked slightly too high-pitched.

     “Yeah, apparently a whole crowd of spirits took over town the other day. Everyone’s freaking out.” Mask chuckled. “Kinda funny, watching ‘em all run around like chickens without their heads. Well, I bet the Mayor’ll sort it out. I’ll see you around, though. Good luck with the cryptic dream.”

     Mask flashed a peace sign and moseyed off into the woods, shaking their feet in a jig. Bard nervously wrung their hands together.

_      Ghosts?! _ they thought.  _ That’s awful! The townspeople are so scared… What if they need my help? _

     A smaller voice inside them began to whisper. Bard refused to let it speak.

     “That was _one_ time,” they said aloud. “And I apologized to Ruby and the Mayor right after! It’s not my fault my voice makes things happen-- that’s just the power of music!”

     The woods shuddered as a breeze drifted through the branches. The rustling leaves sent a shiver up Bard’s spine. They tugged on their hat, making sure it sat securely over their short brown hair.

     “I’ll help the good people of Langtree,” they said, “and everything will be fine.”

     The wind picked up, carrying the distant sound of wind chimes from the town.

     Bard stumbled over a tree root. Bracing themself against a rough oak trunk, they heard their pulse ring in their ears. They paled.

     All at once, the angel’s words returned to them:

     “ _Your world is ending._

_      The Goddess Eya will sing a new universe and replace yours. _

_      It’s just something She does. _

_      Yeah, it’s a real bummer. _

_Sorry your planet’s doomed..._ ”

     The angel’s windchime voice faded to rustling leaves and idle birdsong. Bard swallowed hard, easing their tension away with a few slow and steady breaths.

_      It’s okay, _ they thought.  _ It’ll be okay. One problem at a time... _

     They gulped.

_      One problem at a time. _

     Forcing a smile, they cleared the woods and faced Langtree with a song already brewing in their heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to my overambitious writing project! shoutout to the ws community for being really loving, also to the game itself for meaning so much to me that i'm writing a loose novelization of it
> 
> anyway uhm... hope you enjoy
> 
> greg if you're reading this please don't sue me


	2. Chapter 2

     Miriam had often been warned as a child that if she scowled that much, her face would freeze that way. She’d never heeded the advice, especially today, when the sun slanted right in her eyes while she flew and the wind brought more than a few unpleasant bugs towards her face. She wiped her cheeks with her sleeve.

     “‘Why don’t you go to _Langtree_ , Miriam’,” she muttered, mimicking her grandmother’s croaky voice. “‘See if you can learn about the _Overseer’s_ song’—the world’s ending, Grandma, you don’t need to use your errand-running tone on me...”

     She tugged on her broom handle, angling into a wind current to take her closer to the sleepy forest town. The trees in Delphi were leagues more vibrant than the woods out here—hell, the trees in Grandma Sapphy’s _backyard_ would have outshone the leaves here.

     The wildflowers were nice, though. Miriam had to give them credit for that.

     A gust of wind rippled the skirt of her purple dress as she coasted over Langtree proper. It was a small place nestled along a wooded hill, surrounded by trees and open sky in all directions. Folks came to Langtree and never quite _left_ —it was out of the way, tucked in its private corner of the world far away from war and the daily hustle. The place oozed small-town charm from its redbrick and wooden buildings to the tower with its gleaming gold bell.

     Miriam skirted the bell tower just as it tolled midmorning and dove for the center of town. Her feet were off the broom and on the ground before she’d coasted three feet over the grass. One of the townsfolk, a chubby man with a scruffy red mustache, practically jumped out of his skin.

     “Oh—oh goodness!” he stammered. “A-are you here to help with—”

     Miriam pointed at him. “You,” she said. “Do you know anything about the Overseer’s song?”

     “The what?”

_Useless._ Miriam scowled and scanned the square for someone else. She pointed at a young woman with blonde bangs hurrying with an armful of firewood.

     “Do you know anything about the Overseer’s song?” Miriam asked.

     “Oh, uhm, no, I—”

     Miriam turned her back on them and marched up the hill. She asked the broad-shouldered man and his son outside their house, she asked the black-haired woman by the maple grove, she asked anyone and everyone who dared to step outside—and if she knew a word or two in spirit language, she would’ve asked the ghosts, too.

     “I might know someone,” said the Mayor, “but she’s awful cranky and don’t take too kindly to strangers. I could introduce you as soon as we drive the spirits off, though. Think you could lend us a spell?”

_This town is hopeless,_ thought Miriam, and she left without another word.

     She made her way to the edge of the forest and paced in the bell tower’s shadow. Her feet left a scuffed track in the dirt as she stamped around.

     “How does no one here know about the _one thing_ their town is useful for?” she said. “Grandma said the nexus was on the hill north of Langtree—it’s literally in their backyard! And if I can’t find the song, I can’t talk to the Overseer, I can’t figure out how to stop the world from ending, I can’t—I can’t—I _can’t_ —”

     She stopped short. Her fingertips crackled with white-blue energy.

     Grumbling, Miriam shook her hands out to clear away her magic before it loosed. No blasting. She’d promised.

     A well-tuned whistle shook Miriam from her thoughts the way a tea kettle announces its water had boiled. Whirling around, she spied someone emerging from the woods, dressed in forested tones with a curious feathered hat like a folded paper boat on their head. They had a youthful face and a clear, bright voice that even the birds had trouble ignoring. As they approached, Miriam noticed they were about her height—which was to say, too short to reach the highest bookshelf and too tall to climb the crabapple tree.

     They caught her staring and waved.

     She pointed at them.

     “You. Are you from around here?” she asked.

     The stranger beamed. “Sort of!” they said. “I live out in the meadow; it’s a long walk from town, so I’m not _technically_ from Langtree, but there’s not a whole lot else around unless you count the forest, and the river, and…”

     Miriam sighed. _Good enough_.

     “Okay, okay, that’s fine,” she said. “I just need you to tell me one thing.”

     “Sure!”

     “Please, and it would make my Eya-damned day, tell me you know something— _anything_ —about the Overseer of Dreams’ song.”

     They tilted their head.

     “The what?”

     Miriam smothered her face with her hands.

     “Why did I bother!” she said, her voice muffled as she began to pace again. “I swear to Eya, this whole town… a few ghosts and everyone’s useless!”

     “I’m here to help with the ghosts, actually!” said the stranger.

     “Great. Fantastic. Knock yourself out.”

     She waited. Peering through her fingers, she saw that stranger hadn’t left.

     “What’s an Overseer song?” they asked.

     Miriam rubbed her temples. “Oh, Eya, I don’t have time to talk to you. The world is ending, Grandma asked me to find some archaic information that apparently nobody here understands, and now I’m ranting about this stupid town and this stupid situation to a complete _stranger_ with a _feather_ in their hat.” She stopped. “What’s the deal with that, anyway?”

     The stranger beamed and plucked their hat off to show her. Their brown hair was cropped so short Miriam hadn’t noticed it at first, save for a curl that swept over their forehead from a side part. Eagerly they pointed along the feather’s vane.

     “Well, one day I found this stuck in the shutters on my cottage, and—”

     “Oh, forget it, I don’t really care,” Miriam grumbled. She crossed her arms and tilted her chin at the bell tower. “Town’s that way. Go have fun exorcising ghosts or whatever.”

     The stranger chewed on their lip, brow furrowed slightly in an expression Miriam knew and loathed because it was always followed by an annoying question.

     “ _What_ ,” she said.

     “It’s just that—this might sound weird,” said the stranger, “but I had a dream last night about the end of the world, and you’re here with the same train of thought, and…” They gently bit their lip. “Is it true? Is the world really ending?”

     “Uh, yeah, but I’m working on it.”

     “Do you need help?”

     Miriam stared at them; one of her eyelids twitched.

     “No,” she said instinctively. “I’m handling it just _fine_ , thank you.”

     “But—”

     “I said I’m fine! Shoo, already!”

     The stranger held their hands up, palms out in a placating gesture. “I was just curious,” they said. “Hope your day gets better!”

     They tipped their feathered hat politely to her as they left for the Langtree town square. Even as they walked away, a soft-sung melody drifted back to Miriam’s ears. She gritted her teeth.

     A burst of energy suddenly crackled from her right hand and seared a scar onto the tree next to her. Wincing, Miriam rubbed at the char mark with her sleeve.

     It didn’t come off.

_Eya, if you’re out there,_ she thought with an irate sigh, _please let me have just one good day before you sing us out of existence…_

     She leaned in, forehead pressed against the tree bark. Distant music filtered through the air.

     Miriam sighed.

     This whole town was useless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> miriam is so fun to write
> 
> don't worry, "damn" is the harshest language as we're gonna get. nothing past that >:(
> 
> hope u enjoy... gonna try and have one chapter a week :)
> 
> kudos & comments are much appreciated


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bard is Bard (they/them)

     Bard put the blue-haired stranger behind them and wound their way into Langtree, ducking under low-hanging branches and whistling friendly tunes at the squirrels hiding out among the bushes. Fallen leaves crunched under Bard’s feet as they walked.

_No ghosts as far as I can see,_ they thought, _only trees and clear blue sky._ _Maybe ghosts don’t like being in the sun…_

     A sudden authoritative shout snapped them to attention:

     “Gaddang ghost! Shoo!”

     Breaking into a run, Bard dashed around a woodshed and skidded to a stop outside the local doctor’s house. The doctor himself, a portly man named Clyde, had given his front door a wide berth and stood shivering on the other side of the road.

     “O-oh!” he said when Bard appeared. “Hello, youngun!”

     “Is everything okay?” Bard asked. “I thought I heard the Mayor.”

     “S-she stormed inside to take care of the ghost, but—she hasn’t come out since! It’s been almost three whole minutes!” Clyde plucked off his glasses and polished them on his sleeve. “Oh, goodness me, if we lose her, it—it’d be the end of Langtree as we know it!”

     Another shout from the Mayor interrupted them:

     “Think you can mess with my town, eh? Hi-YAH!”

     Something smacked into a heavy block of wood, followed by a clatter. Clyde flinched.

     “That better not be my mug collection,” he said, wringing his hands. “I g-got those specially imported from Tatango…”

     “I’ll go see,” Bard said. “Stay here, okay?”

     Clyde nodded so hard his glasses fell off again. Bard took a deep breath and went inside.

     Clyde often made house calls when he was needed around town, but his front room was stocked with reference-rich medical texts and porcelain models. A framed watercolor painting on the wall showed a human ribcage with flowers growing out of it. Just looking at it sent a shiver up Bard’s spine, but they steeled their nerves and forced themself to cross the room.

     The door to Clyde’s back room was open, and from there Bard saw the Mayor dance around with a broom trying to swat an invisible bat.

     “Madam Mayor?” they called out. “Are you alright?”

     The Mayor stumbled into view, nearly clipping Bard’s hat with the broom handle. Her thick brown hair was disheveled and frizzy, and sweat beaded around her forehead.

     “Hey, get back, kiddo!” she said, shooing Bard with one hand. “This is serious mayoral business—leave it to me!”

     She swiped at something in the corner by the window; Bard squeezed their way past her to get a better look at it.

     A spectral wisp floated around the bedroom, untethered by gravity or mortal law. In the light streaming from the window it was a cirrus cloud plucked from the sky. The ghost turned its head sharply to look at Bard with hollow eyes and an empty, gaping mouth; two tendril arms and legs billowed behind it as it suddenly circled closer. Despite its ghastly appearance, there was something eerily human about it.

     The ghost let out a long, painful trio of notes that set the hairs on Bard’s arms and neck on edge. It paused as if waiting for a sign.

     “Kid, what are you doing?” said the Mayor.

     Bard gently signaled her to stay back. They forced themself to look the ghost in its dead eyes.

     “Do you want someone to sing with?” they asked it.

     The ghost drifted towards them and batted their feathered cap. Bard cracked a shy smile.

     “All right, I’ll sing with you,” they promised. _You don’t seem that scary, after all—just lonely. No one should be lonely, not even ghosts. After all, all you need is a song in your heart, and the world will sing along._

     Bard straightened their spine and set their shoulders back. As soon as they lifted their clear, bright voice, the ghost sang in tandem, its timbre warming like meltwater in spring as it looped those same few notes over and over into a cyclical round. As they sang together, the ghost faded from cloudlike specter to morning fog—and when it was nothing more than mist it floated beside Bard’s hat.

     It whispered to them in a soft, musical voice beyond comprehension—

     And disappeared.

     Bard furrowed their brow.

_What in the world was that?_ they thought. They tried mulling over the message in their head, but the ghost’s words were lyrical static in their brain.

     The Mayor let out a long whistle behind them. Bard jumped, banging their knee against Clyde’s dresser.

     “Ghosts and spooks,” the Mayor muttered. She set her broom against the door frame and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Sorry you had to come to town on a day like this, kiddo. We ain’t sure what’s making the spirits upset, but it’s driving the town a little nuts.”

     “Are there more?” Bard asked. “My friend told me there was a whole crowd of ghosts, not just one.”

     “Friend? You mean the witch?”

     “Pardon?”

     “Is that her name? She had an awful temper, that one,” the Mayor said. “Well, friend or no, you heard right—though as far as I know, only Bronson and Ruby have spirits over as uninvited guests. I planned on takin’ care of them myself, but if I can’t chase them out with a broomstick, well… I’m out of ideas.”

     She peered at Bard with a spark in her deep brown eyes.

     “Y’know,” she said, “my folks ain’t safe here until these ghosts mosey on. It’d be awful convenient if _someone_ who knew how to talk to ‘em could shepherd them out of town, eh?”

     Bard tilted their head. “I can’t talk to the ghosts, though,” they said.

_They can certainly try and talk to me… but I still have no idea what it was saying. Maybe it just wanted to say thank you… in wispy ghost language?_

     The Mayor straightened her back and tilted her chin up, replicating Bard’s choral posture. Bard gasped.

     “But I can sing to them!” they exclaimed. “Madam Mayor, leave it to me!”

     “Knew I could count on you,” the Mayor said. She plopped herself down on Clyde’s bed. “I gotta let my arms rest from all that horsin’ around—when I’ve caught up to speed, I’ll come find you, okay? Ain’t hard in a town this small.”

     Outside, Clyde nearly fainted with relief when Bard told him the good news.

     “Oh, stupendous!” he said, clapping a hand over his heart. “T-thank goodness everything’s okay; w-when the Mayor went in there I was worried sick, but of course it was no issue for her! Ha-ha!” He trailed off, eyes darting nervously between his house and the woods beyond the road. “W-why are all these ghosts here, anyway? Did we somehow anger Eya?”

     Bard chewed on their lip. Clyde was a skittish fellow on a good day, and seeing ghosts had turned him into a stuttering mess. The last thing he needed was an omen about the world ending—even from unreliable sources like a hazy dream and a bad-tempered witch.

     “No, I don’t think so,” they said. “I’m sure everything’s fine!”

     They smiled; Clyde’s shoulders slumped forward in relief. Even his moustache drooped.

     “W-well, that’s good,” he said. “Being the only doctor in town is stressful enough without a clot of angry spirits harassing the town. You be careful, now!”

     “I will,” Bard said, and, after seeing Clyde safely inside, they followed the road through town.

     Langtree hadn’t changed much in the years Bard had spent living in the meadow beyond the woods. They’d visited often enough, but no matter how much time had passed, the only thing that changed was how much snow was on the ground or the color of the trees. The well-worn dirt paths never needed paving; the houses were small but sturdy; even the birds’ nests had the well-woven security of established order. Folks came to Langtree and wanted for nothing.

     Following the Mayor’s direction, Bard checked on Bronson first. The woodcutter and his young son leaned against their yard’s picket fence; Bronson let Bard into the house through the back door. An eerie melody echoed from the kitchen as Bard crept across the floorboards.

     The ghost there was much the same—ethereal, empty-faced, and wailing a song that broke Bard’s heart the longer they listened. They sang to it as they’d done before, matching each pitch to bring life to the ghost’s somber melody. When it was nothing more than a wisp, that violin voice whispered a strange, lyrical phrase to them in a language built on music and eternity.

     Bard puzzled over the message as they made their way to the edge of town. Two ghosts, two haunting melodies, two bursts of song and static.

     Too many strange happenings for one morning.

_I just want to know what’s going on,_ they thought. _I can’t understand them aside from their songs. What if they’re telling me how to save the world? That has to be important…_

     They finally reached Ruby’s wood-boarded cottage at the end of the hill. Beyond her property, the road wound back through the forest towards Delphi and the neighboring villages. The front door protested with a sharp squeak as Bard entered.

     “Ruby?” they said. “Don’t worry! I’m here to take care of the ghost!”

     Ruby’s house was the oldest in Langtree, and it showed—the wood was cracked, the wallpaper peeling, and the curtains were frayed like moths had shown up for a buffet. Ruby sat in her rocking chair by the unlit fireplace, wool blanket on her lap, her withered nut-brown skin pinched in an ever-present frown. The ghost in her house drifted from wall to wall, howling another sad song.

     Ruby fixed her beady eyes on the door, then Bard, and back to the door.

     “I don’t need your help,” she croaked. “Leave me alone.”

     The ghost wailed. Bard pressed their hands against their ears.

     “Are you sure?” they asked, wincing at the dissonant notes.

     Ruby didn’t bother with a reply. She shrugged one of her blankets off her lap and wrapped it around her shoulders. Her rocking chair creaked as she set it in motion.

     The ghost circled Ruby’s chair once more and drifted to Bard, its blank face waiting for invitation. Bard cleared their throat and sang.

     Gradually, the dissonance cleared as singer and spirit merged their voices. Even after the ghost faded—addling Bard’s brain with its parting words—Bard could taste the mournful melody on their tongue.

     Ruby stared at them.

     “Did you _sing_ that spirit away?” she asked.

     “Yep!” Bard said, smiling. “They like music. Good thing it’s out of your hair, right?”

     “No,” Ruby scoffed. “It wasn’t bothering me one lick. What’s with you, anyway—do you just run into everyone’s homes singing your damn head off?”

     “I, uhm…” Bard stalled.

     Ruby let out a dry cough. “Well. Thanks for coming into my house and making a racket. You can shut the door when you leave.”

_She’s just having a bad day,_ Bard reasoned when they’d stepped outside again. A wind chime hanging from a maple tree clinked in the breeze. _She lives on the edge of town, so maybe she doesn’t get enough visitors—although I’m not sure I’d want a ghost visiting me instead of a real live person. That’s probably why she’s cranky._

     “Hey, kiddo!”

     True to her word, the Mayor had tracked Bard down, and through the trees uphill a faint trail of chimney smoke curled into the sky from the center of town.

     “You took care of the ghosts, huh?” the Mayor asked. “All by yourself?”

     “Yep!” said Bard. “They just wanted someone to sing along with them.”

     The Mayor chuckled. “Well, I’ll be darned—and here I thought you wandering balladeer types weren’t worth a thing!”

     “Hah, yeah,” Bard laughed awkwardly. For a moment, a voice inside them begged to whisper, but they shut it out.

     “Listen,” the Mayor said, “I hate to impose on you again, but d’you think you got time for one more errand? I’ll pay you something for the trouble if you get it done, of course.”

     “The only pay I need is one of Francine and Marley’s rye loafs,” Bard said.

     “You’re a real sweetheart,” the Mayor said softly.

     She put an arm around Bard’s shoulders and pointed them towards the hill behind town. The midmorning sun lit up the treetops and their fringe-colored leaves. One tree in particular towered above the others, a massive oak whose branches unfurled like hands open in offering to the sun.

     “Langtree’s got something of a spirit guardian, a protector called the Overseer,” the Mayor explained. “He lives in the spirit world, but there’s a way to go visit him from our own world—the Tree of Slumber, right there on the hill. You see it?”

     Bard nodded.

     “Perfect. Now, since spirits and such pass through that realm, he might be able to tell us what’s going on here. Y’know, why the ghosts are actin’ up all of a sudden. Only problem is you gotta learn his song to enter the realm.”

     “An… Overseer song?” Bard said. “That sounds familiar…”

_That blue-haired girl,_ they realized. _I completely forgot to ask her name! How silly of me…_

     “Might’ve heard it mentioned around town,” the Mayor said. “Especially when Ron was around. You never met him, did you, kid?”

     Bard shook their head.

     “Ah, that’s a shame. Real nice guy, Ron. He and Ruby used to sing our Overseer’s song for the festival every year, up until he passed, anyway. Ruby still knows it. Ask her to sing it for you.”

     “Uhm…” Bard trailed off, catching the hem of their capelet in one hand. “Can… can anyone else sing it for me? Or pluck the notes on a sitar?”

     The Mayor shrugged. “If they did, it’s the first time I’ve heard of it. Nah, Ruby’s the only one of us left who knows the melody and has the pipes for it. Just ask politely; I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to help.”

     Bard chewed their lip, eying Ruby’s house.

     “Are you sure _you_ can’t sing it for me?” they said, giving the Mayor their best pleading eyes.

     She laughed. “Kid, you’ve heard me warble at meetings before! This voice is for barkin’ orders, not cooing lullabies! Listen, I know Ruby has her rough edges, but she’s got a kind heart… somewhere in there. I’ll be right outside if you need backup.”

     Without waiting for a reply she put a firm hand between Bard’s shoulders and gently shoved them towards Ruby’s front door. Bard stumbled over a loose stone in front of the landing and braced themself against the door frame. They knocked politely this time.

     Silence.

     Bard looked over their shoulder; the Mayor waved them on encouragingly. Taking a deep breath, they opened the creaky door and poked their head in.

     “Ruby?” Bard said.  “I, ah, had a small favor to ask… erm, do you know anything about the Overseer’s song?”

     Ruby peered at them from her rocking chair. Her frown deepened.

     “No,” she snapped. “And did I tell you to come in? You’re letting in a draft!”

     Bard opened their mouth to apologize, but Ruby kept talking:

     “Honest to Eya, I’ve just about had it with you coming into my house with your demands, too! Back in my day, the youth didn’t run around willy-nilly breaking down doors just to antagonize the old folks—”

     “Now wait just a minute!”

     The Mayor came up behind Bard and gently pushed them in so she could stand in the doorway. With her hands on her hips, she was the spitting image of authority. A fallen leaf blew inside the house; the Mayor stomped it down with her foot.

     “Ruby, you mean to tell me you _really_ don’t remember the Overseer song?” she asked.

     “No,” Ruby grumbled.

     “Really? That song you sang all the time—you know, the one you and Ron sang at our yearly gatherings around the big ol’ tree? The one that was _your_ job to perform? _That_ song?”

     Ruby stared into the dead fireplace. Bard pressed themself as flat against the wall as they could; the unspoken tension between the two was enough to make their skin crawl. After a suffocating pause Ruby finally spoke up.

     “Humph. That song?” she said. “I might remember it.”

     The Mayor winked at Bard, though her frown didn’t waver.

     “Can you sing it for me?” Bard asked.

     Ruby’s eyes darted to them. “I said _might_ , child, and I’ll only do it once. So you’d best listen close.”

     She cleared her throat. Bard leaned forward onto their toes.

     Despite her age and bullfrog voice, when Ruby sang Bard felt the world outside soften around the edges. The song was a gentle, even-paced melody around a low, grounded note; Bard closed their eyes and let their muscles relax. Something about the tune reminded them of home.

     Ruby cut off the song as soon as she’d landed the last note. Bard rubbed their eyes and blinked the world back into focus.

     “Thanks a million, Ruby,” said the Mayor.

     “Yes, thank you!” Bard added.

     Ruby adjusted her blankets and set her rocking chair in motion again. She pointedly avoided looking at either one of them.

     “There. I sang the song for you,” she said curtly. “You can all get out now.”

     “Always a pleasure, Ruby,” the Mayor sighed. She motioned for Bard to meet her outside and then slipped out.

     Bard lingered, hesitant to touch the door.

     “That girl could stand to learn some manners,” Ruby said.

     Bard turned; Ruby had shaken out one of her blankets so it covered her feet. She fixed Bard with a beady glare.

     “And you, too,” she spat. “I’m an old woman. I don’t have the patience for you youngsters barging into my house, demanding this and that. All I want is my Ron and some well-earned peace, and since I can’t have him anymore I’ll be damned if I don’t get _something_ from this town.”

     “I’m sorry,” Bard said quietly.

     “Pfuh. Don’t be. Not your fault he’s gone.” Ruby shut her eyes. “Now leave an old woman be, already.”

     Bard let the door click shut behind them. The day was bright as ever, but somehow, a little seed of sadness had wormed its way behind their heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter went long without me realizing! oops
> 
> it's so much fun thinking up extra details for the environment and world!
> 
> hope u enjoy


	4. Chapter 4

     Miriam coasted above Langtree, circling the sleepy town with the wind in her bright blue hair. Since smacking her forehead against a tree wasn’t doing her any good, she’d decided to try her luck in town again—but the more she circled, the less enthused she was about swooping down to talk to people.

 _Ey_ a _, this town is a bust,_ she thought. _I’m better off combing the woods for sheet music at this point._

     Her fingertips tingled. Miriam hovered on an air current and held her hands out in front of her, knees pressed against the broomstick to keep her balanced. A passing swallow berated her for interrupting its path before swooping low towards the trees. Miriam stuck out her tongue at it.

 _Easy,_ she thought.

     A crackle of blue-white energy burst from her fingertips. Letting out a steady breath, Miriam focused on the spaces between her splayed fingers, blurring her eyes until she saw a faint blue aura around her skin. She stayed as still as she could, keeping her eyes trained on that thin blue line, until all the latent irritation churning under her skin settled into a faint twinge instead. She sighed.

 _I guess I have to thank Grandma for teaching me that trick,_ she thought. _When I go back home and tell her I failed._

     Grandma Sapphy was never one to scold, but she carried a patented look of weary acceptance that Miriam had grown accustomed to over the years—the kind of look that said “no, dearie, it’s alright, you did your best” even when your best nearly broke a window with an errant bolt of magic. Miriam had seen that look at every practice session in the yard and every potion-brewing lesson in the kitchen, and no matter how many times Sapphy patted her arm and told her she’d get it next time, it still twisted Miriam’s gut knowing her grandmother thought the world of her and was met with a failure of a witch.

     A real witch knew more than destructive magic. A real witch would have had an audience with all seven Overseers by teatime.

     A real witch. Anyone but Miriam.

     A surge of hot anger flashed through her veins, and Miriam quickly shot a bolt of energy into the sky to loose it. With any luck, even if someone was looking up at her, all they’d see was a bright spot in one of the clouds.

 _Get a hold of yourself!_ Miriam thought. _I told Grandma I would do it, and by Eya I’m going to do it!_

     Another stiff breeze slapped her in the face. Grimacing, Miriam brought her broom down to land on the bell tower in the town square. The rickety thing had to be as old as Langtree itself—and hadn’t seen a repair in years, given the rocky state of its scaffolding. Miriam set her broomstick between two bricks to keep it from rolling off.

     Below her, Langtree’s town center—if a mail office, park bench, and one-room schoolhouse qualified as a ‘center’—was a bustle of human motion. Langtree had hardly twenty people to its name, yet every able-bodied person must have been out running their mouths. Miriam could only hear them when they wandered too close to the bell tower’s base.

     “…drove off the ghosts, can you believe it?”

     “All by herself!”

     “The Mayor sure is something!”

     Miriam blew a raspberry between her lips.

 _And she wanted_ me _for a little spell, pfuh!_ she thought. _I guess the Mayor handled everything just fine after all. Not to mention that weird singer—they probably got too scared of the ghosts and went back to the woods._

     She squinted.

_Speak of the devil…_

     That aforementioned weirdo with their feathered cap was strolling up the road alongside the Mayor, fringed by overhanging trees. Miriam could have sworn she saw a skip in their step.

 _Well, at least they’re not dead,_ she thought. _That’s… good?_

     As she watched, the Mayor stopped them for a brief conversation—too far for Miriam to hear—and left them standing in the road while she went into her house next door. The stranger rocked back onto their heels and whistled.

     A wail echoed through the town. The stranger covered their ears with both hands, shrinking against the sound.

     Below her, the townsfolk scattered as a cluster of pale wisps blew through the square like a mournful tornado. Miriam grimaced.

 _That’s not good,_ she thought.

     She reached behind her for her broom but hesitated, her hand flat against the polished wood. She couldn’t speak spirit language. Blasting a ghost with magic was about as effective as throwing a pebble at a river.

     The three ghosts swarmed the stranger and batted them with their tendril-like arms. The singer slowly brought their hands away from their ears, taking a visible breath. Their posture stiffened.

     Shoulders back. Chest out.

_Song._

     The hairs on Miriam’s neck stood straight up as the stranger’s voice rang through the air. They matched the ghosts’ melody pitch for pitch, singing a call and response with the spirits. The ghosts swirled around them, fading into gauze and fog the louder they sang. When the ghosts were barely visible, they brushed the singer’s feathered hat, and with a last dissonant whisper they disappeared into mist.

     Miriam stared.

 _…What in Eya’s name was that?_ she thought. _Ghosts don’t—you can’t just sing to—what the hell is wrong with them?_

     The Mayor emerged from her house, shaking her head in wonder. She slung a friendly arm around the singer and rubbed them affectionately on the shoulder, steering them up the street and just past the mail office. Miriam watched the two of them, straining to eavesdrop, but couldn’t catch more than a passing word or two in the Mayor’s jovial voice. The stranger turned and set off into the woods. Try as she might, Miriam lost sight of them under the leaves.

 _Where are they going now?_ she thought.

     She leaned forward as far as she dared, squinting at the forest. The trail where she’d found them the first time was further south; this trail curved north up the hill. Nothing but trees and endless forest.

     “You comin’ down from there?”

     Miriam started, clutching the edge of the tower so she wouldn’t fall. She looked down between her feet. The Mayor had come over to the base of the bell tower and peered up at her with her eyebrows set low.

     “I know it ain’t my business, but we don’t exactly have a net to catch you if you fall,” she said.

     Miriam reached behind her and held up her broom.

     “Yeah, I know,” the Mayor continued, “but why don’t you put your feet on solid ground anyway.”

     “The view’s better from up here,” Miriam called.

      The Mayor pinched the bridge of her nose. She muttered something under her breath.

     “Listen, I’ll ask one last time—out of courtesy to the myself and the town, why don’t you hop on down and we can have a conversation like normal folk, alright?”

     Miriam rolled her eyes. She was half-tempted to take her broom and leap off the side just to prove a point, but she kept her descent even-paced the whole twenty feet to the ground. She let her broom hover behind her and leaned her elbows against it.

     “Are you always this stubborn about people climbing your shambly buildings?” she asked.

     The Mayor shrugged off the insult. “Just lookin’ out for my people,” she said. “And as long as you’re in Langtree, you’re one of my people, too.”

     “Oh, joy,” Miriam said dryly.

     “Now, you ain’t from around here, are you.”

     “Gee, what gave it away?”

     “Watch the attitude,” the Mayor warned. “I only ask in case you need help or a spot to spend the night. But you don’t seem keen on much aside from our Overseer’s song, huh?”

     Miriam rubbed her temples. Talk was vexing.

     “I need the song to save the world,” she said curtly. “And every second I don’t know it is a second wasted before Eya resets this whole universe. I saw it in the scrying bowl with my grandma. If I don’t try and talk with all the Overseers, our universe is doomed. So I need your town’s dumb song so I can accomplish _something_ today.”

     The Mayor raised her eyebrows and let out a long, low whistle. She leaned back with a hand on her hip.

     “Well, now, that’s a tall tale,” she said, “but I’d believe it. Music’s a kind of magic, after all. ‘S why we have so many folk songs passed down through generations.”

     Miriam scoffed. “Music’s not _real_ magic—it’s _music_ ; it’s pretty notes and silly songs. That’s all. The only way to access the spirit world just so happens to be a spell you cast with notes instead of, like, lightning, or fancy crystals.”

     Her hand brushed against her hip where her travel bag normally hung. She stared at the empty space for a confused moment before a frown creased her lips.

 _Left the case at home,_ she remembered. _Sapphy said it needed tuning, anyway. Great foresight, Miriam—even if someone had told you the Overseer song earlier, you wouldn’t be able to play it without that damn flute… now what are you going to do?_

     “Well, magic or not, there’s something awful nice about it anyway,” said the Mayor. “Listen, like I told you before when you stomped around town interrogating my folks, I know someone who knows the Overseer’s song—ol’ Ruby down the hill—but she’s in a right ornery mood after teaching it to Bard. You won’t get a lick out of her now, not until she’s had some time alone.”

     “Who’s Bard?”

     “You may’ve seen them earlier—kiddo in the green hat, loves to sing.” The Mayor scratched her head. “I say ‘kiddo’, but they’re really more around your age. Twenty-something. Moved here about six years back. Real sweetheart; whole town loves ‘em even if their voice shakes the tables a bit.”

     “I don’t need their life story, thanks,” Miriam said. “I just need to know where they went so I can get the stupid song from them.”

     The Mayor gestured at the trail north. “Tree of Slumber up the hill—that’s where our Overseer lives. You might catch ‘em if you cut diagonal across the trees.”

     “Great. Thanks.”

     The Mayor reached for Miriam’s shoulder and drew back at the last second. Miriam fixed her with a glare.

     “Look,” the Mayor said patiently, “whatever business you have with our Overseer is between you and him—and Eya, apparently. But Bard’s a gentle soul. Don’t you make trouble for them.”

     “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Miriam said, rolling her eyes.

     The Mayor snorted. “Try that again with a smile on your face and maybe I’ll believe you,” she said.

     Miriam shot her another sour look and mounted her broom. Without another word she kicked off into the sky, coasting low over the treetops towards the giant oak on the hill.

     The Tree of Slumber glowed in the midmorning sun, its canopy a cascade of yellow and citron leaves. Its trunk was massive, easily the width of a house, scored with countless growth scars from its centuries-old vigil. Its ancient bark creaked under its own weight.

     Miriam suppressed a yawn as she stood before it.

 _Tree of Slumber is right,_ she thought. She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand. _It’s pretty, sure, but it’s so boring here it’s putting me to sleep…_

     She scoured the grass and the tree’s giant gnarled roots for any sign of the Overseer or this ‘Bard’ person, but all Miriam wound up with were grass stains on her shoes and a whole lot of nothing. She kicked a pile of leaves.

     A snore cut through the air. Miriam peered down a small brush-covered slope off to the side, broom gripped tight in her hands.

     A dark-skinned stranger wearing gaudy gauchos and a purple wood mask lounged on the grass, hands over their stomach. Their foot twitched as they dreamed. Miriam gave them a once-over and left them to their own devices.

 _What is it with my luck today at finding weird-looking people in the backwoods?_ she thought.

     She paced around the tree a second time, then a third, crunching leaves under her boots and tapping her fingers along her arms to keep her temper in check. She clenched her jaw. She grumbled under her breath. Wind rustled the great oak’s leaves, and for a moment, Miriam heard the faintest notes of a dreamy lullaby.

     She yawned again.

 _A catnap can’t hurt, right?_ she thought, scanning the woods. Slowly, she nestled herself in the crook between two roots. Her thoughts were fog. She’d been flying around all morning; she deserved a break.

_Just a small one, so I don’t miss anything important… maybe I’ll… have a better idea… when I wake up… yeah…_

     She tugged her short fuchsia cape up against her shoulder as a makeshift pillow. Her eyelids fluttered shut.

     Miriam slept, and drifted, and by the time she was awake the world had changed forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's naptime
> 
> the aura trick is something I remember reading in a book on witchcraft that I extrapolated in this scene as a breathing exercise. 
> 
> hope u enjoy! thanks for reading! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bard is Bard (they/them)

     Dreams are dangerous when they anchor idealism.

     Finding the Tree of Slumber was easy. Standing under its massive branches, Bard closed their eyes, placed their hand on its scarred trunk, and sang.

     It was as simple as slipping into sleep—one moment Bard felt the autumn sun on their skin, and the next they were standing among flowers and subdued grass, overlooking a vast, otherworldly landscape. The hill they stood on mimicked the space outside Langtree, but that was where the similarities ended. Sharp purple cliffs jutted out of a stream of rolling yellow fog; trees with arced branches and gauzy leaves fanned in the dry breeze; elegant vines curled around the rocks and split pathways through centuries-old geology by pure spite. Hazy clouds rolled across the cliffs and drowned the treetops. Bard couldn’t even see the sun.

     They whistled in awe. The view here was amazing.

     Wind chimes clinked uncomfortably close behind them. Bard turned around—

     And there was the angel.

     She was petite and ethereal, trailing a long swath of hair that shimmered simultaneously in every color. She floated carelessly to keep herself at eye level. Her body emanated light, making it difficult for Bard to read her expression, but she seemed to be smiling.

     “Hey!” she said in her bell-like voice. “Welcome to the spirit world!”

     “I remember you!” Bard said, scratching under their hat. “You were in my dream last night. What are you doing here?”

     She shrugged. “I delivered my message—you know, the ‘prophecy’, I guess—which was all Eya asked me to do, so… I’m just kinda hanging out. Chillin.”

     The angel drifted in a lazy circle around Bard, her hair trailing behind her.

     “It’s nice, y’know,” she continued. “I don’t get to come down here often, and it’s like, when I’m here, I can feel Eya’s unconditional love spilling across all existence. Pretty sweet deal.”

     Bard left their hat alone and began nervously picking at their fingerless gloves. The yellow clouds smelled mildly off-putting, like compost beginning to rot.

     “So, you’re _real_ ,” they said.

     “Mhm.”

     “And the world is actually ending.”

     “Yeah. _Huge_ bummer.”

     Bard chewed on their lip for a moment before speaking again.

     “So, how do we stop it?” they asked.

     It was hard to tell, but the angel may have raised her eyebrows.

     “Stop… what?”

     “How do we stop the world from ending?”

     The angel shrugged. “It’s not something you can really stop; I mean, Eya’s pretty decisive when she wants to reset a universe. Everything has its time, y’know. Something like that.”

     Bard put their hands on their hips and stared at what they hoped were the angel’s eyes. The angel sat back on her hair, still floating. She looked Bard up and down.

     “Oh, wow, you’re serious about this,” she said.

     “Why wouldn’t I be?”

     “It’s just, well, normally humans get into a weird depression when they realize the world’s gonna end. I gotta say it’s a nice change of pace.” She tapped her chin. “Lemme think… I guess the one thing that _could_ stop it—potentially—is if someone sang the Earthsong.”

     Another yellow swath of fog rolled over the grass and blurred the landscape for a fraction of a second. Bard rubbed their eyes, trying to refocus.

     “All you have to do is sing?” they said. “That’s easy—I can do that! I sing all the time! How does the song go?”

     The angel held her hands up confusedly. She was the epitome of everything a shrug represented.

     “It’s not like, a _song_ song,” she said. “The Earthsong has no melody. It represents the combined will of all life on the entire planet. Everyone in harmony.” She waved one hand vaguely at the sky. “It’s a whole… thing.”

     “Oh,” Bard said. _Keep going. Don’t give in._ “How can I learn it, then?”

     “The Overseer of Dreams knows part of it. If you go talk to him—big castle on a rock, can’t miss it—and ask nicely, he might tell you what he knows. Not a guarantee, but it’s better than nothing.”

     Bard nodded, mentally organizing the tasks in their brain. First ghosts, now this—it was a good thing they’d left the cottage as early as they did. Always best to face a problem in the morning and get it over with.

     “I’ll do that, then,” they said. “This is kind of fun, actually. Like I’m on a quest!”

     The angel giggled. “Yeah, it’s like a quest. A little hero quest. Good luck, lil b!”

     She held out a peace sign and faded into the fog. Bard waited another few seconds, still smiling from her infectious mood.

 _That’s a fun nickname,_ Bard thought. _I’ll have to add it to the list. Now, she said the Overseer lives in the big castle…_

     They turned in a circle, shielding their eyes as they squinted across the rolling clouds and deep purple cliffs. The spirit world was a bit of an eyesore at first, and it didn’t help that the landscape blurred out of focus the instant Bard took their eyes off it. They looked up.

     “Oh!” they said. “There it is!”

     It had been lurking behind them this whole time, shadowed by the haze, but noticing it made the castle sharpen before Bard’s eyes. It rested on a towering, uneven cliff face scored with thick plants and clusters of daisies, like nature was trying to claw its way up the rock and reclaim it for the soil. The path there wound around clusters of these gauzy yellow trees and steadily up towards the stone tower.

     Bard picked their way along, leaping over gaps in the ground where they could, keeping the castle straight ahead. The grass underfoot gave way to pure rock.

     To keep their energy up, Bard hummed while they climbed, and, to their delight, the world around them responded. Flowers sometimes changed color back home in the meadow when Bard sang their favorite lullaby, but here in the spirit world whole trees shook their leaves in tune along to Bard’s voice. Fog parted, spirit birds whistled, and bits of sunset-pink sky peeked out from the clouds the louder Bard sang.

     The thick vines that wrapped around the castle’s rocky podium extended their leaves and lifted Bard through the empty air when they politely offered the plants a melody. They rode the vines up the cliffs, weaving their way in and out of the rock, climbing higher and higher and refusing to look down.

     By the time they reached the castle gates, they were out of breath, but a smile was etched into their cheeks. They leaned back, peering up at the white marble castle’s gabled rooftops. A gold bell hung from a massive tower that pierced the sky.

 _There’s a bell tower here, too!_ they thought. _I guess the spirit world really_ is _a reflection of our world, after all._

     They chuckled, stepping back to survey the view. It was nearly impossible to see the tree where they’d talked with the angel, but there it was, peeking in and out between drifts of fog.

 _I bet if I look_ really _hard, I can find my house! Well, my spirit house. Does my spirit live there? Probably not, since I’m here right now, and I’ve never been to the spirit world before. Or have I? Is this where you go when you dream?_

     Somewhere in the distance a great roll of thunder boomed through the sky. Bard stepped back and readjusted their hat.

 _Better get moving,_ they thought. _The good people of Langtree are counting on me, after all._

 _And the rest of the world, too,_ they added as an afterthought. They chuckled. _No pressure._

     Graciously they knocked on the massive doors. All that did was bruise their knuckles.

     “Hello?” they called.

     Nothing but the wind and idle birdsong. They could have sworn they heard that thunderclap again far, far in the distance.

     Bard braced their feet and shoved one of the castle doors in, revealing a dark hallway with misty light streaming in through stained glass windows.

     “Hello?” they called again. “I apologize for the intrusion, but may I come in?”

     Dim echoes. A distant rumble.

     Bard edged their way inside and shut the door as quietly as they could. The air here was thick and drowsy like waking up too late; Bard yawned before they could stop themself.

     They followed the entry hall, haunted by their own footsteps, until another set of mercifully lighter weight doors led them into a grand white marble chamber lit by brilliant crystal braziers carved into the wall. Shining gold pillars held up the vaulted ceiling and a long, curved stairwell that led to a second floor above an elegant gilded throne. Shadows clung to the far recesses where light couldn’t reach.

     Bard sniffed. The place smelled vaguely like cat fur.

     Something small and white was curled on the throne, its sides rising and falling with each faint breath. Bard yawned again. All that travel through the cliffs and haze, not to mention the running around Langtree, warranted a good nap when they got back to their cottage.

     Carefully, they climbed the dais, and stood awkwardly next to the massive throne. The critter didn’t stir.

     “Hello?” Bard asked.

     The creature unfurled itself into a small white kitten with yellow-and-black butterfly wings stemming from its shoulders. It licked a paw and wiped off the vestiges of sleep from its eyes.

     “Meow!” it said.

     Bard clutched their heart. This cat was too pure. Someone who caused such emotion, sitting on a throne, had to be…

     “Are you the Overseer of Dreams?” Bard asked. “I’m so sorry for barging in, but I have an important—well, two important questions to ask you!”

     The kitten purred. She stretched, digging her claws into the throne cushion, before springing into the air on her wings.

     “The Overseer, meow is not,” she said. “Meow wishes meow was sometimes, but then meow remembers all the boring things meow’s master has to do. Meow is just a little Dream Fairy.”

     “Oh,” Bard said. _That’s okay. Keep going._ “Is the Overseer around, then?”

     The fairy purred some more. “Mister Dream King is taking a nap,” she said. “He can’t see you ‘til he wakes up.”

     The floor rumbled. Bard grabbed the throne for support, nerves on a wire, before realizing the thunder was just a gargantuan snore coming from a room upstairs.

     “How long are his naps?” they asked.

     “Meusually a few years,” said the fairy. “Five to ten to twenty. But this last nap has been going on for _centuries_ —he must be really tired!”

     “Wh—I don’t _have_ centuries!” Bard exclaimed. They clapped a hand over their mouth.

 _Calm down,_ they chastised. _You’re getting worked up._ _One step at a time, remember?_

     “Can you please wake him up?” they said, notably softer. “I’m on a very important quest. Two quests, really. But one of them’s about the end of the world, which makes it _extremely_ important.”

     “Hmmm,” the fairy mused. “Meow understands, but… Mister Dream King does _not_ like his naps interrupted.”

     Bard pressed a hand against their temples.

     “You gotta be _kitten_ me!”

     The dream fairy stared.

     “That was a meowrible pun,” she said.

     “It was a reflex,” Bard said. Another snore shook the floor. “Listen, I can wake the Overseer up if you don’t want to—I can sing _really_ loud; that usually works when I need to wake the Mayor.”

     The fairy shook her head, flitting up to bat at the feather in Bard’s hat.

     “That won’t work,” she said. “Only the bell at the top of the tower can do it.”

     She froze and nearly fell onto Bard’s shoulder. For a moment, the two looked each other in the eye, then at the stairs, then back at each other.

     “Do _not_ ring that bell,” the fairy mewed.

     “I’m totally going to,” Bard said, and sprinted for the stairs.

     “Wait! Hey, get back here!”

     Bard was up the stairs and around the corner before the fairy caught up to them. She swooped down, one tiny paw extended, and swatted Bard across the face.

     “Ow! Stop it!”

     “Don’t wake Mister Dream King!” the fairy said. She aimed another tiny hit at Bard’s head. “He’s always a sourpuss when his naps get interrupted!”

     “I need to ask—ow!—him a couple—ow!—questions! It’s important!”

     The two raced through the castle, past closed doors and dining halls empty for decades, through wide halls with pink tourmaline inlays and rich garnet mosaics, to the narrow bell tower with its spiral staircase. By now Bard had earned an array of tiny scratch marks on their face, but all that did was steel their heart and power their steps further up the stairs.

     The fairy finally gave up her chase and landed, panting, on the handrail. Her wings drooped.

     “Fine… you win,” she said, waving a paw at Bard. “Don’t say that… meow didn’t warn you… just… ask nicely… meow.”

     Bard scratched her affectionately behind the ear before they emerged onto the rooftop. They could see for miles, far above the yellow clouds, the rest of the spirit world hidden beneath that soft pink sky. Pale stars fell in lazy arcs in the distance.

     Bard stood under the gold bell. They took a deep breath.

     They leapt for the clapper and came about six feet too short.

     They rubbed their hands together, took a running start, and tried again.

     When that failed, Bard walked in circles trying to find a rope or a reasonably-sized rock to strike it with, wasting nearly another minute before realizing the spirit world loved their voice and a bell might be no different.

 _Here goes!_ they thought.

     They raised their voice and sang, two clear notes an even space apart, landing the root and the fifth as the bell swung in time. The ringing from the bell sent a shockwave through the tower, but Bard planted their feet firm and kept their voice high.

     The castle shuddered. A sudden cloak of darkness choked Bard’s voice as it swallowed the sky, leaving them stranded with no point of reference save the vague impression of a floor beneath their feet.

     Bard gulped. They forced their knees not to tremble.

     A massive purr resonated through the dark; two gleaming yellow slits peered at Bard from the void.

     Musical static pounded in their head.

     “…What?” they said.

     The unintelligible noise slammed into them again. Bard winced, trying desperately to understand it, but just like the ghosts in Langtree all they heard was elegant noise.

     The shadows rumbled. For a moment, the yellow eyes closed, leaving Bard in this empty space. A sharp headache pressed against their eyes.

     Cosmos. Unity. Sound. Color.

     Spirits, noise, language, and _song_.

     It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but the impression of that headache lingered in Bard’s skull.

     “Understand me now?” the yellow eyes said.

     “Yes,” said Bard. _I’m not sure how, but…_

     “Fantastic,” the eyes grumbled. “So, _why_ am I awake?”

     “The world is ending!”

     “Oh.”

     Bard let out their thoughts in a ramble before the Overseer could get another apathetic word in:

     “I learned about it in a dream, and talked with a rainbow-haired angel, and trekked all this way here into the spirit world and up to the castle—your fairy friend gave me a few scratches—so I could meet with you and ask to learn the Earthsong, and also the people of Langtree want to know why there’s ghosts invading their town, and—”

     “Okay. Gonna stop you there, kid.”

     The eyes closed, and out of the dark stepped a large, rotund white cat walking on its hind legs. A crown embedded with garnets graced his wide head, and he tugged on the hem of his red velvet coat to give the illusion that he’d make himself presentable. Tufts of fur stuck out from his face at odd angles and he lazily brushed them into place. He groaned, rubbing the side of his head with one bushy paw.

     “Sorry for like, scaring you,” he said. “Being awake is _not_ my thing.”

     “That’s what your fairy told me,” Bard said.

     “Hrm. Should have listened to her.” The King rolled his shoulders back, working out a knot in his muscles. “So, what in Eya’s name are you prattling about again?”

     “I was wondering if you could teach me the Earthsong!”

     “...No.”

     Bard blinked a few times. The void must have muffled the King’s words.

     “Pardon?” they asked.

     “I said, ‘no’,” said the Dream King. He laced his forepaws together and stretched, cracking a joint in his back. His pink tongue lolled as he yawned. “Is that seriously why I’m up? To listen to a silly human? Kid, the Earthsong channels all the life on this planet, and if _all_ that life isn’t in perfect harmony, it won’t work. There’s no point. I’m not gonna bother teaching you an ancient myth for a lost cause.”

     Bard fidgeted with their gloves. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This was all wrong. The Overseers were helpful denizens; they maintained balance in the spirit world and harmony among the living. That’s how the stories went.

     Bard bit their lip hard enough to leave a mark.

     “So you… won’t help?” they said.

     The King shrugged. “Meh.”

     “What about all the people on Earth?” they pressed.

     “So? What about the universe?” The Dream King gestured at the shadows pressed around them. “Everything dies eventually. That’s the natural order of things. Eya sings, the universe has a good run, then She sings again and a new one starts. You’re asking me to bend the rules just to save this _one_ tiny piece.” He scoffed. “Bit selfish, don’t you think?”

     Bard said nothing. They kept their eyes low, staring at a scuff on their boot.

     “’Sides,” the Dream King said, “I’m not feeling up for it, anyway. Got a bad back, you know.”

     He paused, eying Bard’s dejection, and sighed a long, low purr.

     “Are we good? Can I go back to sleep now?”

     Bard finally found their voice, but it was a small, cowed thing.

     “What about the… the ghosts haunting Langtree?” they asked.

     The Dream King scratched the back of his head, not even bothering to look at Bard anymore.

     “Oh, yeah, that sounds tough,” he said. “Good luck with that.”

     “Wait!” Bard tried to say, but their voice was swallowed by shadow as the world spun, and spun, and spun, and—

     —landed them back on the grass beside the gauzy yellow trees.

     The castle was nothing more than a formless purple shape in the distance, and as Bard watched in dismay the haze billowed towards it and covered it like a blanket. The spirit birds whistled their pleasant songs, unaware of the discord needling Bard’s heart.

     “I can’t _believe_ that guy!” they exclaimed.

     “Oof, sorry, lil b,” said a windchime voice.

     Bard turned. The angel floated beside one of the angular trees, one hand propped under her chin. The light coming off her skin wavered as she frowned.

     “Should I really just give up?” Bard asked her. They winced. Desperation was an ugly emotion.

     “No!” the angel said. “Well, I mean, you _could_ , but…”

     She smiled, holding up her hands in a heart.

     “I believe in you, lil b! I was a little hesitant at first, but you’re, like, super determined. Dream King’s kind of a dud, anyway. But I bet the other six Overseers might lend a hand. They’ve each got a piece. If you ask me, a humble servant of the Goddess Eya, I say screw this guy and let’s find the others instead.”

     Bard laughed. “You seem awfully determined, too!”

     “I like you. And I like your pluck. I don’t really know where the other Overseers live, but I bet they aren’t hard to find if you ask around and talk to folks. You’re really good at that. The whole ‘people person’ spiel.”

     “I try to be,” Bard chuckled.

     The angel grinned.

     “You can do it, lil b. Don’t give up!”

     She flashed a peace sign and faded away.

     Bard closed their eyes, breathing in that off-kilter scent from the spirit world, and letting the tension in their chest escape with their breath.

 _One thing at a time,_ they thought.

_One thing at a time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna try to update once a week but I've got lots of other projects going on so it might not be a consistent day, just FYI
> 
> thanks for reading! :)


	6. Chapter 6

     Miriam woke with a start. Frantically she picked herself off the ground and brushed away the grass stains on her striped leggings. A faint wail drifted up from Langtree.

 _Eya Above, how long was I out?_ she thought as she hurriedly mounted her broom and shot into the sky. She shook a few errant leaves out of her hair as she crested above the forest. The sun wasn’t _that_ low, it couldn’t have been _that_ long, but knowing she’d slipped up was enough of an embarrassment that Miriam felt that white-hot energy burning at her fingertips as she gripped her broom and soared across the trees.

     She pulled up short, squinting through a cloud at the belltower.

_What the hell?_

     That weirdo in the pointed green hat stood in the center of town, surrounded by three ghastly pale spirits (and the rest of Langtree, at a distance) looking about as comfortable as a pigeon trapped in a chimney. They kept one hand on their hat, its red feather a beacon, and the other stalwartly over their chest.

 _They’re not running?_ Miriam thought. _I mean, I know they said they’d help with the ghosts, but they didn’t strike me as the ‘bravado’ type._

     The ghosts wailed again and sent that uncomfortable dissonance grating against Miriam’s spine. But the stranger tilted their head, studying the ghosts with a pensive expression. They closed their eyes—

     —and sang.

     Miriam held her breath, eyes trained on the congregation, as their clear voice floated up to her:

_“Good people of Langtree, oh why can’t you see?_

_Though we appear ghostly, we’re not enemies;_

_We’re Ron, John, and Mary, your folks who’ve just passed,_

_But this world is ending and so we’ve amassed—_

_You won’t get your fair chance to live your lives through,_

_And that’s why we’ve come back to spend time with you.”_

     Miriam swayed on her broom. With a jolt she shook herself back to her senses.

 _Idiot,_ she told herself. _Stop daydreaming. It’s not like they’ve told you anything new—the world’s ending, blah blah blah. Guess that’s too big of a reality check for these people to deal with._

     The townsfolk below murmured their own superstitions. One by one, they approached the ghosts, hands outstretched to pass through the arms of their dead companions.

     The Mayor came to stand beside the singer, staring up at the empty face of a soul she barely recognized—but knew nonetheless.

     “Pa, is that you?” she asked.

     Miriam’s head rang with lyrical static. She plugged her ears until that vibrating sensation passed. She’d never had the knack for spirit language, not the way Sapphy’s foremothers did, but, astonishingly, that singer cocked their head like they were actually listening.

     “Uh… he said yes,” they told the Mayor.

     The Mayor pressed a hand against her mouth, tears welling at her eyes. She couldn’t hug the ghost outright, but she tried her best with what little she could grasp.

     More static fuzzed through Miriam’s brain, and after a pause that singer translated it effortlessly to common speech.

 _That’s honest-to-Eya spirit language,_ Miriam realized. She clenched her fists around the broomstick. _You idiot, you took a power nap and forgot to get the Overseer’s song from them! How could you have messed up this poorly on your own damn mission?_

     The townsfolk milled around the square with their own muddled conversations. Miriam floated around the belltower and behind the schoolhouse, keeping herself in as much shade as she could. The last thing she needed was another awkward chat with the Mayor—or anyone else, for that matter. They were all too preoccupied with their ghosts to bother looking up.

 _Hang on,_ Miriam thought. She squinted.

     There went the singer, alone, winding down the road out of town. The way they were going, they’d head around towards the other side of the woods, presumably back to their cottage.

     Miriam frowned. _Not on my watch._

     She leaned forward on her broom and shadowed them. With the wind beneath her she coasted behind them as they meandered their way out of Langtree, scouring as a hawk tracks a mouse. Right before they’d disappear under tree cover and make a landing much more difficult, the singer stopped.

     They sighed pleasantly. Noticing a spot of color, they bent down to smell a wild daylily by the side of the trail.

     “Hey!” Miriam snapped.

     She dove sharply and spun to a stop in front of them, kicking up a clod of dirt with her broom. The stranger coughed.

     “You spoke spirit language back there, didn’t you!” she said, jabbing a finger at them before they could reply. “That means you saw the Overseer of Dreams, right?”

     The stranger nodded. They opened their mouth to speak, but Miriam bowled over them:

     “I knew it! Ey _a_ , out of all the people in this stupid town, why did it have to be…”

     She trailed off in a series of inarticulate grumbles, burying her face in her hands.

_Grandma Sapphy and I… told me to find an Overseer… weirdo singer… spirit words… stupid, stupid, stupid!_

     Red-faced, Miriam fixed the singer with as fierce a glare as she could muster.

     “ _You_ are coming with _me_ ,” she said. “Don’t ask questions. Don’t even try to sing another dumb song. Just get on my broom!”

     “Where are we going?” they asked.

     “Grandma’s house.”

     “Why?”

     “She’s a witch, too. She’ll know more about what you did and why and how we can use it to save the world, and—what’s with that look?”

     The singer had a bright grin across their soft face. “You said no questions,” they said, “but you’ve already answered two!”

     Miriam groaned. “Will you please… stop talking… and get on?”

     “Sure!”

     Miriam braced the broomstick underneath her while the singer thought too hard on how to sit. They settled for an awkwrad side-saddle.

     “Hold on tight!” Miriam warned.

     “What?”

     The singer yelped as Miriam shoved off the ground with both feet, flying them into the low-hanging clouds. Carrying two people was a bit unorthodox for Sapphy’s old broom, but it could handle the weight—even if it took Miriam longer than she would have liked to steady them on a reliable current west.

     “What’s your name, anyway?” she said over her shoulder after they’d coasted for a bit.

     “Bard!”

     Miriam snorted. “That’s the stupidest name I’ve ever heard.”

     “I think it suits me,” Bard said, fighting against the wind to keep their hat on. “Bards are singers, and singing is something I’m really good at!”

 _So is being talkative,_ Miriam thought.

     She kept her mouth shut the rest of the trip—catching the hint, Bard did, too, though occasional hums wormed their way up Miriam’s back. She followed the sun west, over the gold and copper trees, until the hills draped into a familiar profile against the horizon. Beyond those hills were Delphi and the ocean, Rulle and Chaandesh, all manner of places and people living without any idea the world was coming to an end.

     A coil of welcome smoke drifted up from a house that overlooked a steep dropoff into the valley. Grandma Sapphy’s house was a modest thing, built generations ago and added to whenever the need arose. Sunset’s rosy light exposed every loose shingle and every patchwork repair job the house had sustained over the years. Even the deck hanging over the cliff was built on skewed legs.

     Miriam huffed. _Repairs will have to wait until I save the world,_ she thought resentfully. _Right now, I have more than enough to manage with_ this _problem…_

     She dove without warning. Bard nearly grabbed her for support but gripped the broom instead, releasing it only when Miriam practically bucked them off the broomstick.

     “We’re here,” she said.

     Bard brushed off their capelet. They stared past Miriam at the painted wood house, ignoring its chips and faults.

     “Wow!” they said. “This is your grandmother’s house?”

     “Yeah.” _And mine, but…_

     “It’s beautiful!”

     “Thanks?” Miriam said. She edged her way in front of Bard and rapped on the knotted wood door.

     An old woman answered, squat and kind-faced, her deep blue eyes glassy with half-formed cataracts. In the sun, her pale hair shimmered like ice over a pond.

     “Miriam!” she said warmly, stepping forward to hug her granddaughter around the waist.

     “Grandma—Sapphy—you literally saw me this morning,” Miriam said.

     “I know, I know, but it’s always a treasure to see my darling granddaughter.”

     Sapphy broke the hug and saw Bard standing to the side. She clasped her hands over her heart.

     “Oh, Miriam, you’ve found a friend!” she said.

     Bard smiled.

     “Absolutely not,” said Miriam.

     Bard’s smile strained.

     “I only brought them because they talked to the Overseer of Dreams.” She glanced at them. “You _did_ talk to him, right?”

     “Yes!” Bard said, wringing their hands, “although he was… awfully grumpy.”

     “Sounds like someone I know,” Sapphy said.

     She winked at Miriam; Miriam rolled her eyes.

     “Come inside, dears, and tell me all about it. Miriam, put the kettle on for tea, yes?” Sapphy said, bustling into the house. Miriam set the broomstick in its iron holster just inside the entryway and stomped inside, kicking off her boots by the doorway.

     The house was just as much Miriam’s as it was her grandmother’s, but at a first glance you would never know it. Dark wood and frayed curtains framed the main floor, rich with age and musk. Any available shelf was a testament to yellowed books and tincture bottles. Even the fireplace and the worn iron cauldron on its brick trivet spoke of time immemorial.

     A balcony overlooked part of the living room with doors and a hall leading to the more private quarters of the house. Miriam wanted nothing more than to march up to her room and shut out the rest of the world, but instead she tossed her half-cape onto the living room couch and unhooked the kettle from its spot above the sink. She lit the fireplace with a burst of her own magic and set the kettle to boil, all the while wary of Bard—who’d barely taken a few steps past the entryway.

     “You can come in, you know,” Miriam said.

     “I know, I—I’m just admiring the woodwork!” Bard replied. They beamed that Eya-damned courtesy smile at her.

     Miriam grumbled under her breath. Sapphy bustled past her.

     “Miriam, I’m so pleased you’ve found yourself a friend,” she said quietly.

     “They _aren’t_ my friend,” Miriam hissed. “They’re a noise-making nuisance who just so happens to be of use to us. That’s _it!_ ”

     Sapphy chuckled, patting her granddaughter on the elbow.

     “You’re awfully defensive for someone using the best mugs in the kitchen, dear.”

     “Shush! I have manners, you know!”

     “I’ll just… wait here, if that’s okay?” Bard said, edging towards the couch.

     “Oh, dearie,” Sapphy said, turning to them, “make yourself at home—we don’t mean to give you the cold shoulder here. Leave your boots by the door, hang your coat up if you like. You say you’re from Langtree?”

     “Around there, yeah.”

     “What a lovely area—you know, back in my day, we used to gather daylilies from the meadows around the forest. Do they still grow there?”

     “Yes! And there’s a ton of high-step lace, and cornflowers, and…”

     Miriam pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. Grandma Sapphy could chat a sapling to a full-grown tree before letting the conversation go. While she and Bard exchanged pleasantries, Miriam went through the cluttered kitchen and pulled herbs from their jars, mint leaves from the windowsill planter, and sachets from the cupboard to make a proper tea to take the edge off her nerves. She’d let the leaves steep for a solid five minutes by the time Sapphy was done chatting with Bard.

     “Miriam, thank you so much, dear,” Sapphy said when Miriam handed her her mug.

     “Yeah, sure,” Miriam replied.

     She stiffly handed a mug to Bard, who took it graciously and sipped with both hands. Sapphy settled into her favorite reading chair beside the cauldron, turning on the lamp behind her.

     “So, you met with the Overseer of Dreams,” Sapphy said to Bard.

     “Yes!”

     “And what did he tell you?” Miriam asked. “It better be good, or you’re walking back to Langtree on your own.”

     “He, well,” Bard said, tapping their fingertips against the mug, “didn’t quite like being woken up from his nap, and, well, I’d asked him about the Earthsong, which is a mythical song an angel told me would save the world—”

     Miriam snorted.

     “—but he said it was a lost cause. And he went back to sleep without helping me. But that’s okay! Because I’m not giving up until I learn the Earthsong! Even if the Dream King wasn’t that helpful…”

     Sapphy sighed the way dead leaves rustle in the wind. She set her mug on the side table, leaning back in her chair.

     “We knew this would be a difficult task,” she said, “ever since we divined the world’s fate. We’ve been trying to commune with the Overseers for quite some time without any luck.”

     “More like _I’ve_ been trying to,” Miriam muttered. She caught Bard looking at her and tapped her foot.

 _All Grandma does is sit at home and tell me what to do,_ she thought, _as if I can’t remember a single thing about magic without her._

     Her fingertips tingled. She tightened her grip on her mug.

     “Ignore her,” Sapphy stage-whispered to Bard. “My granddaughter likes the sound of her own complaints.”

     “I am _right here,_ Grandma,” Miriam said.

     Sapphy chortled. “Tell me, child,” she said to Bard, “do you know the story of creation?”

     “Bits and pieces,” Bard said.

     “Well, a long time ago, impossibly old, the Goddess Eya sang creation into the cosmos with Her divine voice. She conducted the universe into motion, and we see it every day around us: the sun and moon cycling through the sky, the turning of the seasons, even the ticking of the clock as it counts away the seconds.”

     Sapphy broke off for a sip of tea. Bard leaned forward, eagerly trained on her voice, but Miriam kept her posture closed, one arm crossed over her chest while the other held her mug of tea. Valerian root was supposed to _calm_ her, not make her _more_ agitated.

     Sapphy continued, “When Eya’s melody spun our planet together, She thought it best to leave well enough alone and let us humans get up to our own mischief. But, to ensure harmony could flourish, She appointed eight denizens—the Overseers—to keep balance between our world and the world of spirits.”

     “Hang on, I thought there’s only _seven_ Overseers,” Miriam interrupted.

     “These days, there are,” Sapphy said. “No one knows what happened to the Overseer of Storms—or if they existed in the first place. Maybe they quietly passed away millennia ago, leaving nothing but silence behind. Their impression lives on in the world regardless. Here, let me show you…”

     Sapphy tugged a book off the shelf behind her and flipped it to the blank page along its back cover. With a pencil, she outlined the spirit symbols in two neat columns:

     “Winds.” Two curled waves.

     “Hearts.” An unfurled valentine.

     “Chaos.” A fallen teardrop.

     “Order.” A rigid triangle.

     “Sun.” A circle and eight perfect rays.

     “Moon.” An eternal crescent.

     “Dreams.” A five-pointed star.

     “Storms.” Spokes on an empty spiral.

     Sapphy set the pencil down and held the book steady. She eyed Bard and Miriam both.

     “This is the basis of our universe,” she said, “as well as the language of spirits. The Overseers are ancient beings and known to be rather fickle, but they are our best hope at giving our world a sliver of a longer life. The Overseer of Dreams might have been uncooperative, but you may have better luck with the others.”

     “Great, then that’s settled,” Miriam said, setting her mug next to Sapphy’s so she could properly cross her arms. “I head out and track down the other six, then come back to the Dream King once he’s got some sense knocked into him. Easy.”

     Sapphy nodded to herself, humming. She stood and crossed to Bard. Gently, she fidgeted with the sleeves of their blouse, fixing a few little creases, and patted them on the arm.

     “I like you,” she decided. “You have a hopeful spark that I haven’t seen in years. Why don’t you travel with my granddaughter? The two of you would make short work of such a monumental task.”

     Bard’s face lit up. “I’d love to!” they said.

     Miriam stared. _Excuse me?_

     She tugged on Sapphy’s shoulder. “Grandma, _no!_ ” she hissed. “Please tell me you haven’t gone senile yet.”

     Sapphy chortled. “Miriam, I’m an old lady—”

     “Old, schmold...”

     “—and whether I’ve truly lost my marbles is between me and Eya Herself. Besides, travel is difficult for me these days, otherwise I would fly across the world right beside you.”

     “What?” Miriam said. “I’ve seen you ride a broom to Delphi and back just for the library book sale.”

     “Yes, but that was almost a year ago. These bones feel age even if my spirits don’t.”

     As if for emphasis, Sapphy’s joints audibly cracked when she reached for her tea once more. After a long sip, she settled back into her chair.

     “You ought to rest here tonight,” she told Bard. “I can make up the couch for you—nothing fancy, but it’s soft enough for sleep.”

     “Well, if that’s the case, _I’m_ going to my room,” Miriam said. She stomped past Bard and Sapphy, hands stuffed into her elbows to keep her clenched fists hidden.

     It was hard to make a dramatic exit when half the upper floor looked out over the living room, but Miriam did her best, marching with a stiff gait and making sure to tread on the creakiest floorboards. She lingered with a hand on the door to her room, barely out of sight from the level below.

     “Don’t mind my granddaughter,” Sapphy said in a low voice. “She’s got a temper, but her heart’s in the right place.”

     “Oh, I don’t mind,” Bard said. “I think she’s very… passionate!”

 _That’s certainly a synonym for temperamental,_ Miriam grumbled as she shut them out behind her door.

     She’d only been gone about eight hours, but her room was just as cluttered as it ever was—which was to say, more befitting a troll than a human. Miriam didn’t bother changing and lay on her nest of blankets, focusing on the aura between her fingers to calm that irate, grinding feeling in her chest.

     This was supposed to be _her_ quest.

     And it was going all wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bard is Bard (they/them) y'all know this by now so this'll be the last intro note for that

     The couch, like all couches, was suitable for an overnight’s rest, but Bard was grateful they wouldn’t be spending another night on its lumpy cushions. They cricked their back and made sure to set everything in the living room in its proper place before washing up and seeing what else needed doing around the house. Sapphy graciously accepted their help kneading biscuit dough at the kitchen table and chatted politely with them over tea until breakfast was ready.

     Miriam only showed her face halfway through breakfast, and even then just to get a biscuit and mug of tea before retreating to her room. Sapphy watched her go, letting a paper-dry sigh from her chest.

     “Is everything alright?” Bard asked.

     “Oh, it’s fine,” Sapphy said. She cradled her tea between her hands. “My granddaughter must have forgotten we have a guest over, otherwise I’m sure she would have said hello.”

     “It’s okay!” Bard said. “It’s still early, after all.”

     “It’s half past nine, dear.”

     “…Early for some, I guess.”

     Sapphy smiled. “You’re quite the optimist, eh?” she said. “What a pleasant change of pace.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “I live here with Miriam; it’s only ever been the two of us in this little house. She’s been grump ever since she was a little girl. But she’s _my_ grumpy little girl.”

     She chuckled.

     “It’s funny; half our family comes out jolly, the other half the complete opposite. Many I can’t even speak to—like my sister, bless her soul. Miriam might be a fuddy-duddy, but I’ll always be there for her. I only wish she’d loosen up a little. It must be exhausting, keeping so much expectation on those little shoulders.”

     Sapphy took a long sip of her tea, letting the steam curl around her wrinkled face. She eyed Bard carefully.

     “Look after her, won’t you?” she asked.

     “Absolutely!” Bard said. “I don’t know where this quest for the Overseers is going to take us, but I’ll make sure she doesn’t get into trouble.”

     “Bless your heart,” Sapphy said, patting their hand. When she smiled, the whole room softened.

     Sapphy insisted on packing them lunch and sachets of dried tea for the road. When they said their goodbyes on the front landing, Miriam looked about as comfortable as a cat in a rainstorm.

     “Grandma, please, I’ll be fine!” she said. She wriggled her way out of Sapphy’s arms, standing slightly away while Sapphy hugged Bard tight around the waist.

     “Thank you for your hospitality!” Bard said when she released them.

     “Oh, sweetheart, you’re always welcome here,” Sapphy said. “Any friend of Miriam’s is a friend of mine.”

     Miriam muttered something behind them. Sapphy pretended not to hear. She leaned up and patted Bard on the cheek before shuffling back inside the house on slippered feet.

     Miriam waited until the door was closed before she marched past Bard down the hill.

     “Come on, we’re wasting daylight,” she said. She slung her broom down and mounted it in one smooth movement, kicking up to hover a respectful few feet above the ground. Fallen leaves scattered in the wind.

     Bard kept pace beside her, picking their way carefully down the hill. Sapphy’s house overlooked part of the valley to the east, but Miriam had them pointed southwest through a copse of trees and around moss-covered outcrops of dark gray stone. Mist clung to the leaf litter underfoot and stained Bard’s boots with dew as they tramped through the underbrush.

     “Where are we headed, again?” they asked, tilting their head.

     “Delphi. Small town on the other side of the hills.”

     Miriam pointed towards a wave of autumn-colored trees sweeping above them. From their flight yesterday, the hills hadn’t seemed quite so imposing, not quite as large as they did now, shaded with orange and deep-earth umber. The last of the morning fog draped itself over the topmost trees and melded with the clouds overhead.

     “Normally, Sapphy and I fly there,” Miriam said, “but we’re taking the long way today.”

     “Can’t I fly with you?” Bard asked.

     “No—you’re heavy. My broom’s not made for two people. Honestly, it was challenging enough getting you here from Langtree.”

     Miriam leaned one of her legs down to kick at a pile of leaves, still sitting on her broom. Bard scratched the cropped hair on the back of their head.

_She seemed to fly just fine,_ they thought, _but, then again, it’s her broom. She knows her limits better than I do._

     “Alright,” they said. “What’s the long way? Do we get to climb over the hills? Follow a river through?”

     “Ey _a_ , you talk forever, don’t you,” Miriam said. She gestured at a stretch of dark stone up ahead that curled claw-like around a break in the forest. A thin stream disappeared into a gap in the rock about fifty feet down the hill.

     “Cave system. Old travel route from Delphi to this side of the hills.”

     “Oh. That works!”

     Bard crunched their way over the forest floor, careful not to squish any mushrooms or flowers underfoot. That cave yawned ever wider the closer they crept.

     “Now, I don’t want to freak you out too bad,” Miriam said off-handedly, “but there’s monsters in this cave.”

     Bard stumbled over a tree root and caught themself on a low-hanging branch. They scanned the woods around them, but all they saw was that morning mist and dappled light through the canopy. Their ribs were tight.

     “…When you say ‘monsters’,” they said.

     “I mean big, hairy monsters with horns and razor-sharp teeth,” said Miriam, peering down from her broom. “They guard the Breathing Crystals where the Queen of Winds’ nexus to the spirit world is. And they’re nasty, grizzly beasts who’d eat someone like you as quick as blinking.”

     Bard’s fingers caught the hem of their capelet without them realizing. Worrying the fabric in their hand, they stared cautiously at the cave entrance.

     “…Are you _sure_ I can’t fly with you?” they asked, giving Miriam one last pleading look.

     “Nope,” Miriam said. “I’m not about to risk falling from that height because you’re too scared to walk through a little cave. I’m pretty sure the locals kept a tunnel clear just for travelers, but I haven’t been down it in _ages_. Might not even exist.” She leaned in, looking down her sharp nose at them. “Why, are you having second thoughts? Want to turn around and head back to Langtree? Leave the whole saving-the-world business to someone more qualified for the job?”

     Bard chewed their lip, eying the cave entrance and Miriam’s testy glare. A stale breeze from the cave caught a cluster of leaves and curled them in the air like a beckoning hand. For a moment, Bard almost let a deeper thought worm its way to the surface, but with a steady breath and patient smile they quashed that doubt under the dirt where it belonged.

     “No, I can do it!” they said, letting their voice fool themself into confidence.

     They could have sworn they saw Miriam frown at that, but she quickly shook it off and coasted down to the cave entrance.

     “Well, come on, then,” she said without looking back. “We’re wasting daylight, in case you’ve forgotten.”

     Bard trotted down to meet her at the threshold. That stale air whispered in the language of forgotten earth and secrets.

     “Don’t we need a light?” they asked.

     “Crystals down there make their own light,” Miriam said. “After you, O Adventurous Spirit.”

     Bard took a deep breath and plunged into the cave, trailing one hand along the wall to keep them grounded as the dirt underfoot gave way to solid stone. After a few seconds, once Bard’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, the walls around them glimmered with subtle light, flashing purple and blue in time with Bard’s nervous breaths. They smiled. This wasn’t so bad after all.

     Then again, this was only the first cavern. Who knew how deep they’d have to go before they reached the other side.

     Miriam kept her eyes on the winding slope ahead, her back straight and her hands gripped tight around the broom handle. Bard strained to hear any signs of monsters, but aside from their own breaths and the faint dripping of water, the caves were silent.

     “So, about these ‘monsters’,” Bard started.

     “Eya Almighty,” Miriam said, “I can take care of them if you’re so scared. I’m a witch, after all.”

     She held up her hand and clenched it into a fist; blue-white sparks flew from her skin and lit up the rocks around them. Bard fidgeted with their capelet.

     “Honestly, I don’t know what we need you for,” Miriam continued. “I had everything under control just fine until you showed up in Langtree and _happened_ to get to the Overseer before me. But whatever. Grandma _knows best_. Honestly, she’s too trusting for her own good—I _know_ she orchestrated this just to mess with me.”

     “Really? She seems so sweet,” Bard said.

     “She’s overbearing and always pushes me more than I like.” Miriam adopted a nasally croak to her voice and added, “‘Miriam, sweetie, if you channeled your magic from the _core_ then you wouldn’t set the _chair_ on fire!’; ‘Why don’t you try _meditating_ , Miriam?’; ‘Practice this _breathing exercise_ with me, Miriam’—I swear she does it on purpose to get under my skin.”

     Bard frowned, but Miriam had already turned away down a side tunnel. They hurried to keep pace with her, each footstep a drumbeat in the spacious caverns. After another few minutes of navigating around the gentle blue-and-green crystals, Miriam suddenly tensed.

     “We’re getting close,” she whispered.

     “Why are you lowering your voice?” Bard said.

     “Shh! Shut up is why!”

     Ahead of them stretched a natural bridge hewn from sea-green crystal, carved flat across the top to make a path for flat-footed creatures. The cave they’d found themselves in was easily half the size of Langtree, hollow and menacing, with a dark pit that burrowed so far into the earth Bard got dizzy staring down at it.

     “Do we have to cross the bridge?” they asked. “It looks… awfully narrow.”

     Miriam nodded. She gestured impatiently for Bard to take the first step.

     Bard gulped. Setting aside their trepidation, they inched their way across, focusing on the stone beneath their feet instead of the hundred-foot drop lurking by either edge.

     “This place is creepy,” they whispered. “No wonder people don’t come down here very often.”

     “Shh!”

     “What?”

     “You’re gonna wake up the monsters! I know their nest is around here somewhere, and if you don’t shut up, they’re going to—”

     A hulking shape burst from the shadows and slammed onto the bridge, sending cracks through the stone beneath its feet. The white fur over its body bristled as it leaned back on its hind legs and bellowed, baring its yellowed teeth.

     “Get back, get back!” Miriam urged, yanking her broomstick up to fly to the ledge they’d been standing on. Bard stumbled after her, pushed by the gust of wind from the monster’s powerful roar.

     Miriam tightened her short fuchsia cape around her shoulders and glared at the monster.

     “Well, this is fantastic,” she said dryly. “Guess I’ve gotta take care of this mess, now.”

     She clenched her fist and summoned another burst of blue-white energy around her hand, casting a harsh shadow over her eyes.

     “Wait!” Bard said. “You’re not going to hurt it, are you?”

     “Uhm. Yeah? How else is it supposed to leave us alone so we can get through?”

     “Let me try talking to it first. Please?”

     Miriam snorted. She glanced at her magic like she was checking her fingernails, and then shook the spell away.

     “You know what?” she said. “Sure. Knock yourself out. This’ll be _hilarious_.”

     Bard heaved a sigh of relief, burying the jab under more immediate thoughts. They put on their best smile, walked into the tremendous roar of wind—

     —and tumbled flat on their back, sliding up against a boulder. They picked themself up, squared their shoulders, and pouted. Miriam snickered.

     “Is that your best glare?” she said. “You look like a puppy.”

     “I’m trying!” Bard said. They clutched their hat as another bellow from the troll nearly knocked it off their head. They weren’t certain, but it almost sounded like the troll favored a single pitch in their vocal register.

     “You’re not exactly inspiring confidence,” Miriam said.

     “No, I can do it!” Bard insisted. They took a deep breath and set their shoulders straight once more. “I’ll sing! I know I can reach it!”

     Miriam rolled her eyes. “Like that’s gonna work…”

     Bard faced the troll. Somewhere in that roar was a song.

     Somewhere in there was music.

     Bard braced themself and pushed into the wind, straining to catch that note of familiarity.

     There—halfway down the staff, if the troll had wanted to transcribe sheet music. Bard ran through the scale under their breath just to make sure the key matched, and then sang a clear, perfect fifth above it, striding into the wind with nothing but their voice between them and the troll.

     The troll’s jaw hung slack as Bard approached; its bushy eyebrows were pressed so close together in confusion they resembled one giant hairy caterpillar. Its roar dwindled.

     Without the complementary pitch, Bard broke their song off with a quick breath, eagerly looking up at the troll with a beaming smile. Up close, the troll was easily the size of a grizzly bear and smelled distinctly like wet dog, but its dark eyes were kind as it searched Bard over for any sign of malice. It scratched its wide jaw with one furry hand.

     “You sing nice,” he said, voice a stone-shaking rumble.

     “Thank you!” Bard replied.

     “Never heard a human sing like you. You good at anything else?”

     “Not really, but—”

     The troll snarled and slammed its fist down on the bridge. Bard flinched. A small piece of rock tumbled off the bridge into the cavern below.

     “Then what use are you? If you can’t fix my boyfriend, you can get out of our cave!”

     “But—”

     “Psst… hey… is it time… for me to dish out some serious magic now?” Miriam slowly asked as she coasted up to Bard on her broom. Tiny sparks jolted from her fingertips.

     “No!” Bard said. They held a hand up to keep Miriam at bay, the other picking at the clasp on their capelet. “What’s wrong with your boyfriend?” they asked the troll.

     “One of you _humans_ hurt him!” the troll exclaimed. “We never got a look at them—they came through here so fast and put my boyfriend under a magic spell before I could get a good roar in my belly! No more humans are getting through here—turn back around before I—before you regret it!”

     “Geez, calm down!” Miriam said. “It’s not like _we_ came here to attack you.”

_Well, technically_ you _did,_ Bard thought, and immediately felt a twinge of guilt in their stomach. _Breathe. Focus on the moment._

     “We just need to get to Delphi,” Miriam said. “Let us through and we won’t bother you any more.”

     Bard fidgeted. Miriam might be able to fly around to the other side, but there was no way Bard could squeeze past the troll without risking a serious fall.

_They should really put a handrail here,_ they thought. _But that’s not the problem right now._

     “Maybe I can help you?” Bard said to the troll. “I can try singing to your boyfriend and see if that breaks the spell!”

     Miriam laughed. “Music isn’t magic, you dolt,” she told them. “If it’s a spell, leave it to the actual, literal witch on a broomstick here.”

     “Well… can you break curses?” Bard asked.

     Miriam mumbled something under her breath that sounded a lot like a poor excuse. The troll scratched his chin again, staring the two of them down with those deep eyes.

     “You say you’d help?” he rumbled.

     “Yes!” Bard said.

     “I guess,” said Miriam.

     “Hmph. Fine. Come with me.”

     The troll waved them along behind him, lumbering down the bridge to the flat shelf of rock on the other side. Without checking to see if they followed, the troll leapt onto a precarious cluster of fallen stones and disappeared behind a lip of stone.

     Miriam grumbled behind Bard as they climbed, but they couldn’t focus on her when the stones around them glowed in time with their breath. Soft, undulating pulses of sea green and navy trailed them as they clambered over the rocks to a flat, half-circle cubby nestled against an array of green and blue crystals. Claw marks gouged into the cave walls were stashed with roots and miscellaneous scraps of hide.

     Another burly white-furred troll was hunched over a stone table, mouth frozen in a roar of pain. Lightning sparked off its fur and crackled dangerously when Bard and Miriam approached.

     The animate troll looked at his boyfriend with a heavy weight in his eyes before turning to Bard.

     “Can you fix him?” he asked.

     Bard nodded, and was about to reach a hand out to the spellbound troll when Miriam tugged them back by the neck of their capelet.

     “Don’t bother,” she told them. Raising her voice, she added, “Listen, troll guy, whatever curse this is, we can’t break it. This is the work of someone _really_ powerful—not even my grandma could fix it if she was here. It’s… honestly a little scary.”

     “We’re used to humans attacking us,” the troll said, “but never like this. Not with magic the crystals can’t fix.”

     He reached to pat his boyfriend’s head, but a spark of lightning singed his fur. The troll grimaced and returned his hand to his side. He hung his head, shutting his eyes and the rest of the world out.

     “I was a fool to think humans could help us,” he sighed. “Just go. Get out of our home.”

     “I… we’re really sorry, Mr. Troll,” Bard said.

     “I’m not,” Miriam said.

     The troll shook his head. “The other side of our cave is close. Follow the crystals down until you see daylight. Please, humans, leave us be.”

     Bard winced, wishing they could find some song inside them to cheer the creature up, but nothing but awkward silence came to their lips. They followed Miriam out of the troll’s cave and back down the slope, around twists and turns and up another sharp incline before catching the morning sun through giant blue-green crystals sticking out of the rocky floor. That familiar glow within the rocks faded as Bard and Miriam let the morning sun wash over them. As soon as they emerged onto the grass, Miriam threw her arms up in relief.

     “Ugh, finally!” she exclaimed. “I _hate_ going through there.”

     “I thought you said you hadn’t been through the caves in a while?” Bard said.

     “Yeah, well, maybe my memory was off,” Miriam said, avoiding their eyes. “Whatever. You’re in Delphi, now; congratulations. Try not to forget why we’re here in the first place—Overseer song, saving the world, that whole deal.”

     “The quest!”

     “Yeah. Sure.”

     Bard perked up, catching sight of the town ahead. Up the hill was a cluster of redstone buildings and vibrant maple trees, and indistinct chatter drifted to them on the wind.

     A wooden sign hanging from a fencepost on the dirt road read: “Delphi! Home of the Crazy Raven!”

     Bard cast one last look at the caves before they fell into step beside Miriam on her broom. They’d come back that way eventually. The Breathing Crystals were in there. The Queen of Winds’ part of the Earthsong was waiting in the spirit world. Maybe by then, they’d have a cure for the troll’s boyfriend.

_Don’t worry, Mr. Troll, I’ll come back and save you!_ they thought. _I’ll save everyone! Because I’m on a quest for Eya, and I’m going to save the world!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one took a while, but now more fun things get to happen in Delphi so that's exciting
> 
> thanks for your patience! I've got a lot of other projects going on, so I update when I can.   
> thanks for reading! (and for kudos and nice comments aaa <33)


	8. Chapter 8

     Now that the caves were behind them, Miriam remembered why she always flew to Delphi when she could. Aside from the unpleasant feeling of being watched, walking into town on foot made her all-too-aware of every cracked stone along the streets and every dingy home that Delphi hadn’t brought itself to repair yet.

     Delphi couldn’t bring itself to do a lot of things, these days.

     Miriam dismounted and kept her broomstick in one hand. Stabbing the ground with the bristles, she swept errant leaves out of her and Bard’s way as they meandered towards the center of town. Pigeons and crows called out their hollow songs through the trees. As they walked, maple leaves fell from the branches and were tugged away by the wind.

     “What a cute place!” Bard said. “I love how red the trees are turning! They match the buildings if you squint hard enough.”

     Miriam rolled her eyes. Delphi was far from ‘cute’—even ‘quaint’ was a stretch by any definition of the word. Everywhere she looked, her eyes glossed over cracked windows and crumbling mortar between the stones. Stores rotated faster than trees shed their leaves, and half the first-floor windows on any given street were dark with bold signs saying “for rent”. The candy store had cropped up five years back and it was a miracle the geezer running it hadn’t closed by now. Hard to sell candy to a town too depressed to function half the time.

     “You’ve never really been outside Langtree, huh?” Miriam said.

     “Well, not recently, anyway. I’ve never been to Delphi before.”

     “Don’t get too excited.” Miriam paused to kick a pebble further down the road. “Grandma Sapphy and I are the only interesting thing this town has going for it. Delphi’s over four hundred years old and used to get a _huge_ crowd from overseas because of its music scene—but that was a long time ago, according to Grandma. Nowadays you’re lucky if you catch anything listenable from the beat-up venue on the hill.”

     “That’s a shame,” Bard said. “I bet the people miss having that kind of traffic, or seeing all those people come through. I wonder what happened…”

     Miriam shrugged. They’d reached the center of town, a round plaza with a tiered stone fountain that dribbled pitifully through its clogged spouts. Miriam tugged Bard to one of the park benches underneath the maple trees fringing the plaza and sat them down in front of her.

     “Delphi’s cultural scene is _not_ our problem,” she said. “ _Our_ problem is finding the Queen of Winds’ song to get to the spirit world.”

     “That’s right!” Bard said. “Don’t worry, Miriam—we’ll find the song by the time the sun sets, I promise!”

     “Uh… sure,” Miriam said.

     She withdrew the lunch Sapphy had packed them from her travel bag and handed a sandwich to Bard, sitting with at least a foot’s distance between them to eat her own lunch on the bench. Miriam pointedly looked at anything but Bard. Their cheery face and wide-eyed wonder—especially in a place like Delphi—made her jaw clench.

_Ey_ a _, I thought for_ sure _they’d leave after I talked up that cave,_ she thought. _Anyone with half a brain would have turned around the moment I mentioned people-eating monsters. But no-o-o, apparently I’m dealing with ‘Bard the Brave’ here. They think they can find the Overseer song just like that! What does anyone need me for when they’re_ so _confident? It’s infuriating._

     Miriam finished her sandwich and folded up the paper bag to reuse later. They’d wasted enough time getting here, might as well start the hunt.

     “Alright, let’s get searching,” she said, turning to face the bench.

     She blinked.

     Bard was gone.

     Miriam let out an irate string of curses under her breath and scoured the plaza—empty—before she grabbed her broom and marched in a random direction, gripping the stick like a spear. The dour-faced locals roaming the streets gave her a wide berth.

_How could I lose them already?_ she thought, scanning the buildings. _Delphi is_ not _a large town! Ey_ a _, and now I’ve got to make sure they don’t ruin mine and Sapphy’s reputation, or get suckered into helping everyone and their mother in this place…_

     By the time she’d tracked Bard down, evidence of their influence had spread all along Main Street: the owner of Holmes’ Sweets whistled a new jingle, the two young adults who loitered at every store were in strangely high spirits, and even the woman who resented being single looked decidedly more optimistic.

     Miriam finally found Bard along a side road, chatting with a dark-skinned woman wearing gold earrings and a sleeveless vest over a silk blouse. The woman had a notebook in one hand and slowly added more zeroes to the number she was scrawling. Bard caught sight of Miriam and waved her over, another stupid grin on their face.

     “Hi, Miriam!” they said. “This is Penny! She’s selling coffee beans!”

     “I don’t suppose _you_ want a hundred thousand beans on top of their order?” Penny asked.

     “A hundred thou—no, absolutely not,” Miriam said. She rounded on Bard with a creased brow. “Bard. Are you kidding me? We don’t need beans. We don’t have money. Do you even _drink_ coffee?”

     “No, but… she’s so polite, Miriam!” Bard said, wringing their hands. “She and her crew supply the whole _town_ with coffee beans; they help the Eagle Café stay in business!”

     “Oh, for crying out loud—thanks, Bean Lady, but we’ll take a pass.”

     Miriam herded Bard away by the shoulders, back down the hill to the center of town. The plaza was empty save for a dark bush-like lump by one of the benches. Miriam didn’t pay it any mind.

     The fountain choked out a few fallen leaves and dead bugs as it sputtered. Bard reached over to clear away the blockage but Miriam smacked their hand away.

     “Will you please focus?” she said. “We don’t have time to get sidetracked just because you haven’t been to a town this big before.”

     “O-kay,” Bard said in a sing-song voice. Cheekily, they added, “Mir-i-am’s in a bad mo-od…!”

     “Will you stop singing?” Miriam snapped.

     “Holy cannoli! That _voice!_ ”

     Miriam clenched her hands into fists. She’d thought the plaza was empty, but that dark lump she’d dismissed as a bush suddenly sprouted a face and limbs and toddled over to them—or, specifically, to Bard, clasping their hands tightly and shaking them like he was tugging a bell.

     “Name’s Manny, ace!” he said in a well-oiled voice. “Been lookin’ for a voice like yours for what feels like ages—you gotta help me out, here! I do drums, see, and I been thinkin’ of a performance to set this town on fire like the old days, but I need musicians, see? If you can sing like that, then I bet…”

     Miriam stared at this clown, but neither he nor Bard somehow remembered she existed. Stifling a scowl, she folded her arms and stared daggers into Bard’s back waiting for them to stop talking to such a sleazy guy. Manny had the mustache of a shovel handle and the sunglasses of a desert vagabond, and whether it was the burnt coffee scent wafting off his jacket or the way he grinned, he made Miriam’s skin crawl with distrust. But to her growing disappointment, Bard and Manny had settled on some sort of agreement, and the two gestured with their hands in a frenzy. Miriam sidestepped next to Bard without them noticing.

     “This is going to be so fun!” Bard said.

     “Yeah, ace!” said Manny. “I usually get a spot lined up at the Crazy Raven. Place is like a palace!”

     “A crumbling palace,” Miriam interjected.

     Manny twirled his mustache, finally noticing her. His sunglasses were so dark it was a miracle he could see through them in the first place.

     “It’s… seen better days,” he hedged. “But I promise ya, this is just what we need to bring some life back to Delphi, ace! People here ain’t seen something good in a long time. Their spirits are dyin’, y’know? I wanna fix that, and puttin’ on a show’s the best way to do it!”

     “That’s such a good idea!” Bard said. They turned to Miriam and smiled. “Isn’t it, Miriam? We’ll help him, right?”

     “Correction: _you’ll_ help him,” Miriam said. “You two can have fun organizing a charity case, but _I’m_ going to get _actual_ work done.”

     “Uhm—okay!” Bard said. “I’ll meet you back at the fountain in a few hours, then?”

     “Sure.”

     Bard waved goodbye and jogged down the street, disappearing behind Delphi’s notoriously stuffy inn. Manny awkwardly scratched his mustache. He edged away from Miriam an inch at a time before he, too, broke into a jog and let Delphi’s buildings obscure him from view. The plaza was finally empty.

     Miriam snapped her fingers and sent a burst of magic crackling at the fountain. With a jolt a clod of soggy leaves and twigs burst from one of the fountain pipes, letting the water flow freely from the spout.

     Miriam parked herself on a bench, crossed her arms, and waited for someone useful-looking to walk by. In this run-down town, it might be a _long_ while.

     She sighed. The maple trees that grew around Delphi were fringed with crimson now that summer was officially over. As she watched, a leaf from the topmost branch snapped off and twirled down towards her, stopping with a crinkle on the bench beside her. Miriam picked it up and rubbed the stem between her fingers to make it spin.

     “Oh, hi, Miriam!”

     Miriam sat up. Nate, the resident history buff, had invaded her personal space without her realizing, and stood with a friendly smile on his tan face. He was far from useful-looking. If anything, Nate was the sort of man who would spin niche facts about irrelevant subjects until you either dissociated or dug yourself a personal grave where you were standing. Miriam fixed him with a frown.

     “If the next words out of your mouth are ‘I learned a neat fact from the library today’,” she said, “you may as well walk downhill into the caves, because I’m not interested.”

     “Oh, well, that’s alright,” Nate said. “I was on my way to Holmes’ Sweets and thought I’d say hello is all. How’s Sapphire?”

     “She’s fine.”

     “That’s good—you two are the only witches around here, so us locals gotta make sure you’re both hale and hearty. Bad luck otherwise.”

     Miriam rolled her eyes. Nate spent so much time buried in folklore and historical myths it was astounding he wasn’t a librarian himself.

_Folklore. Hang on._

     Miriam stood up; Nate instinctively stepped back even though he was an easy foot-and-a-half taller than her.

     “You know,” Miriam said, “you might be useful to me after all.”

     “Uh, thanks?” said Nate.

     “I need to find the Overseer song for the Queen of Winds. Do you know anything about it? Anyone who might know it, preferably in town, preferably someone I can hunt down within the next half hour so I can ditch the stupid singer I’m with and save the world on my own terms?”

     “That’s, uh, a highly specific request,” Nate said, “but let me think… Overseer’s song, hmm…”

     He rubbed his chin, lips pursed like he was sucking on a hard candy. After a moment he snapped his fingers.

     “You know, that rings a bell! Come to think of it, someone fierce came through town yesterday looking for the song.”

     Miriam furrowed her brow. That was an odd coincidence. That dream had only happened the day before yesterday—if someone else was out there tracking down Overseer songs, either they knew how to stop the end of the world, or wanted to talk with the Queen of Winds for an unrelated reason.

     Something in Miriam’s gut pointed to a third option she didn’t even want to think about.

     Nate chuckled nervously. “Yeah, I know, they seemed pretty intense—didn’t bother asking more than a few people out on the streets before they marched off towards the caves. I didn’t even get their name.” He scratched his head. “Definitely wasn’t from town, though. Too bad; it’s been a while since Delphi’s had any visitors. Who’s your green-caped friend, by the way?”

     “One, they aren’t my friend, and two, it doesn’t matter,” said Miriam. “Can you think of _anyone_ in town who might know the song?”

     “Ah, sorry, I don’t,” said Nate. “The songs don’t translate to sheet music, otherwise I bet it’d be in the library archives… but hey, I only hear what comes through the grapevine half the time—I bet if you asked around, you might find some folks who know a thing or two about the Queen of Winds!”

     Miriam grimaced. _Talking. Great._

     “Anyway, I gotta get going. Tell your grandma we say hi!”

     “Sure,” Miriam said noncommittally. She waited until Nate had sauntered a fair distance down the block before she flumped back onto the bench, head in her hands.

     Another red leaf spun down from the treetops, landing on Miriam’s hair. She didn’t bother plucking it off.

     This day kept getting worse and worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nate has some interesting dialogue if you keep talking to him...
> 
> thanks for reading! <3


	9. Chapter 9

     Bard bounded through town, every sense alert for music on the winds. Finding the Queen of Wind’s song was important, true, but what was _more_ important and might even help in the long run was finding musicians for the band Manny expected to have organized by the evening.

_Musicians… musicians, musicians, that shouldn’t be too hard to find,_ Bard thought. _I hope…_

     They followed their ears around Delphi’s winding streets, listening for anything that vaguely resembled a song. On their way back from the Crazy Raven—Manny’s supposed venue—they caught a soft string instrument serenading them through the open door of a café. Bard peeked inside.

     A woman stood at the far corner by the window on a slightly elevated platform, framed by ragged-edged posters for open mic acts gone by. Her hair was buzzed on one side, leaving a sweeping wave of sage green hair across the other side of her head; her long violet dress was too elegant for a coffee shop but somehow the barrista and one other singular patron didn’t seem to care. She played a sleek violin that filled the room wall to wall.

     Bard sidled to the counter, careful not to draw too much attention to themself.

     “Who’s that?” they asked.

     “Hm? Oh, that’s Viola,” said the barrista. “Plays in here every day for a few hours. Don’t think she gets much in tips, but she hasn’t bothered anyone, so we let her stick around.” He sighed, leaning his chin against his hand. “At least she gets a coffee when she’s through. You want anything?”

     “Oh, no, I’m fine,” Bard said. “I’ll just wait for her to finish her song.”

     They sat down at an empty table and waited for Viola—but, as the minutes ticked by and the violin soared without pause, Bard began to impatiently pick at their fingernails.

_‘We’re wasting daylight’_ , came Miriam’s reminder from that morning. Bard bit their lip, not wanting to interrupt a performance, but Manny was counting on them to find performers for the night. They carefully edged up to Viola until they were in proper speaking range.

     “Excuse me?” they said softly.

     Viola played on. Her eyes were closed, and the sun through the window glimmered over her gold eyeshadow.

     “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but do you want to join a band?” Bard asked.

     Viola brought her bow up sharply, eying Bard the way one looks at a bug on their windowsill. She closed her eyes and resumed her song without giving them a word.

     Bard fidgeted. This piece had been going on for fifteen minutes without rest. The barrista was starting to give Bard a bitter look for loitering so long without buying anything. Not like they had the money, but…

     “You play beautifully,” Bard said.

     Viola swept her bow down and turned her note into a vicious sharp. Her glare could have curdled milk.

     “Are you always this rude to performers?” she asked.

     “Well, no,” Bard said, picking at their gloves, “but I wasn’t sure you were going to stop playing, and I promised I’d find musicians for this band I’m putting together with—”

     “Stop, stop, please, you’re ruining my airspace,” Viola said. She rested her bow on the table beside her and flipped her vibrant hair over its part. She gave Bard a disdainful once-over.

     “What are you, a singer?” she said.

     “Yep!”

     “Hmph. And you’re forming a band?”

     “Yeah, for—”

     “Well, if you want me to join, you need to _impress_ me. Follow _my_ cues. And don’t make me change keys, I _hate_ sudden key changes.”

     “Uh, sure,” Bard said. “I can do that!”

     Viola held her violin up to let the sunlight shine across its neck. She angled her chin against the curved rest and winked at Bard.

     “Try to keep up,” she said.

     She launched into an improvised piece so fast that Bard scrambled to sing the relative pitches. They performed together, matching chords and keeping keys, for a fast-tempo three minutes. By the time Viola played the final notes of their impromptu song, her bowstrings were frayed and Bard desperately needed a glass of water. Not wanting to risk any more social slights, they waited for Viola to at least acknowledge them before speaking again.

     “Huh,” Viola said, letting her violin rest along her arm. “You’re not _quite_ on my level, but… pretty good.”

     “You’re good, too,” Bard said.

     Viola giggled behind a manicured hand. “Why, thank you!” she said. “I’m Viola, by the way. Pleasure to meet you.”

     “I’m Bard!”

     “Yes, you certainly are,” Viola said. She moved her violin to its case on the table next to her, securing the clasps along the sides. “So, who’s organizing this little ‘band’ of yours? Someone in town?”

     “Mhm,” Bard nodded, “this guy named Manny, we just met, and—”

     “Oh,” Viola said flatly. “Manny, huh. What a surprise. He’s been begging me to join his little enterprise for _years_ , now, and it’s always been a huge fluke.” She sighed, flipping her hair. “But, if he managed to recruit _you_ —someone with talent for once—this might actually be something. Alright. I’m in.”

     Bard clapped their hands together in glee.

     “But _I’ll_ talk to Manny about this… arrangement,” Viola said, that no-nonsense tone underlying her words. “I assume this is the show that annoying woman who works for the Raven has been blabbering about all morning?”

     “I don’t know who you mean, but yes, the show’s tonight.”

     “Alice is a menace. Don’t bother yourself with her.”

     “Uh, alright,” Bard said. “Do you know anyone else who might want to play with us?”

     “Hmm…”

     Viola pursed her lips, partly in thought, partly to apply another layer of lip balm.

     “I heard there’s an accordionist in town,” she said after a moment. “I caught a bit of their playing through a window outside the Delphi Inn. Sounded halfway decent, even for a late-night somber sort of performance. I don’t think they realized their window was open.”

     “That could work—thank you!” Bard said. “I’ll come find you and Manny before the show, I promise!”

     They left Viola with a friendly smile and stepped out into the afternoon, pausing to smell the crisp trace of autumn on the air.

     The Delphi Inn wasn’t hard to find. Bard passed through the center of town to get there, eyes peeled for Miriam’s familiar blue hair, but she was nowhere in sight. Bard frowned, but tried not to let it bother them. Miriam visited Delphi fairly often. She must be busy with her own fun side quests.

     A sour-faced woman peered at Bard over the top of her magazine when they walked into the inn’s foyer.

     “Welcome to the Delphi Inn,” she said unenthusiastically. “Interested in a room?”

     “No?” said Bard.

     “What else is new,” the woman said. She stuck her nose back in the magazine and paid Bard no further heed.

     Solemn chords sank through the floorboards above them. Bard checked to make sure the receptionist wasn’t looking and made their way up the stairs to the inn’s proper lodgings, tracking that sound until they stopped at a chipped wooden door with faded brass numerals.

     They knocked.

     “Oh, sorry,” came a muffled voice through the door. “Was I playing too loud?”

     “No!” Bard said. “Actually, you play so beautifully, I was wondering if you wanted to join a band!”

     Silence. A sigh.

     “Not really,” said the voice.

     Bard fidgeted with their capelet. A band with a violinist, drummer, and singer technically could work, but…

     “Are you sure?” Bard said. “I really think you’d be perfect! Can we talk inside?”

     More silence. An even heavier sigh.

     “Okay,” said the voice. “Door’s unlocked.”

     Bard entered the room with as much confidence as they’d approached Viola earlier with, shoulders back and chin up, but seeing the hunched figure sitting on the bed with their accordion stopped Bard in their tracks.

     The accordionist couldn’t be more than a few years older than Bard, but they carried such _weight_ on their back, such creases under their eyes from apparent sleeplessness. Their hair fell in soft waves around their shoulders, pale pink like a sunset, a butterfly pin on their lapel. They didn’t take their hands off the accordion on their lap but gave Bard a friendly enough nod.

     “Hey,” they said.

     “Hi,” Bard said. “What’s your name?”

     “Ash.” Their voice was the tired calmness of a creek in spring. “What’s this about a band?”

     Bard explained it in a rush, stopping several times to correct themself, embellishing every personal detail they could remember about Viola and Manny. Ash nodded to themself when Bard finished.

     “Huh. I guess that sounds fun,” Ash said, “but I… can’t play with you guys.”

     “Why not?” Bard asked.

     “I’ve never been on a stage before. Besides, I always wanted to play my first show with my mom.”

     “That’s okay!” Bard said. “Where is she?”

     “The cemetery.”

     “Oh.”

     “She died just last week,” Ash continued, running their thumb over the accordion keys in slow circles. “I came out here for her funeral. She was a famous accordionist, used to tour all over—she’s the one who taught me how to play. She was the best. I really loved her.”

     Ash’s grip tightened subconsciously on their accordion, their lips tight.

     “I think…”

     Ash sniffed.

     “I think you should leave me alone right now. I’ll play with you some other time.”

     Bard wrung their hands together. Words failed them. Not even an encouraging song came to their lips. They left as quietly as they could, shutting the door with barely a click behind them, and slumped against the wall out in the hallway.

      _Now what?_ they thought. _The show’s in two hours! Manny’s counting on me, and Viola, and the rest of the town, too!_

     A gentle breeze stirred the curtains hanging over the hallway window; a familiar rainbow-haired face emerged from the golden sunlight over the floorboards and floated up to greet Bard.

     “Hey, lil b!” said the angel in her windchime voice.

     “Hi,” Bard said. They tilted their head, smiling. “Are you following me around?”

     “Heh, no,” the angel laughed. “I’ve been pretty busy, actually—but not too busy for you!”

     Bard smirked. The angel drifted closer and batted the feather in Bard’s cap.

     “Busy with what?” Bard asked.

     “None of your beeswax!” the angel teased. She tugged the feather out of Bard’s hat and smacked them gently on the nose before replacing it.

     “Sorry, sorry,” Bard said. “I’ve been busy, too, trying to help the town out. I just wish I could help Ash somehow. They’d be perfect for the band Manny and I are putting together, but they wanted their first show to be with their mom, who’s just passed away… I wish I could… I don’t know, get their ghost mom to come convince them they’re as good a musician as everyone else hears.”

     The angel giggled. “That’s not as difficult as you think. You know you can talk to ghosts now, remember?” she said.

     Bard blinked.

     “Oh, my gosh, that’s right!” they said. “Wait here, I’ll—I think I saw a cemetery outside town, I’ll be right back!”

     “I actually have to go,” the angel said, “but good luck, lil b! You can do it!”

     She flashed them a peace sign and faded into the wall, but Bard was already down the stairs and past the receptionist, jogging through the winding stone streets. The plaza was empty—Miriam must have gotten bored, they’d find her later—but they caught Manny outside the sweet shop and gave him a huge thumbs-up. He returned it sheepishly. Behind him, Viola stood with an armful of elaborately wrapped chocolate boxes, saying something about ‘up-front payment’.

     Bard kept going, following the wind that rustled the maple leaves back behind the Crazy Raven, all the way up a small hill to a cemetery surrounded by a quaint wood fence. One of the stones bore crisp edges without a trace of moss or weathering. The mound of packed dirt beside it smelled loamy.

     Bard crouched, careful to avoid the bundle of pink carnations by the gravestone.

_I should have brought flowers, too,_ they thought. _Hopefully she won’t mind…_

     “Hello?” they asked the earth. “Ms… Demian? Ash’s mom? I’m a friend of theirs, and they’ve been really sad about their music, and I was hoping you could maybe go talk to them about playing for other people again?”

     Bard sat back on their heels and waited. A squirrel looked up from nibbling on its acorn and gave Bard the most querulous look a squirrel was capable of giving before scampering out of the cemetery. Bard scratched their neck.

_When in doubt, sing..._

     Ears trained on the wind, Bard gently hummed an aimless tune. Accordion music rumbled from the loam beneath their knees and rose through their bones, harmonizing with the low, driving notes Bard sang. They let the tune naturally work its way to a stop—and stifled a gasp as a pale white shade floated in the air before them.

     Ash’s ghost mom was decidedly more present than the amorphous ghosts from Langtree—but, then again, she’d died barely a week ago. She had her child’s curly hair and soft nose, and she’d brought her accordion with her to play as a specter. She cut off Bard, who’d been about to speak, with a polite hand.

     “I heard you before,” she said curtly. “Don’t worry, I’ll go talk to them.”

     “Thank you,” Bard said.

     Ash’s mom nodded, and whether it was the late afternoon sun blurring her from view or her own ghastly nature, she faded away. Bard stood, brushed the dirt off their knees, and headed back to town.

     When they got back to the inn, Ash and their ghost mom stood awkwardly on either ends of the room. Ash’s mom shrugged.

     “They can’t seem to hear me,” she said in spirit language.

     Bard looked between them, brow furrowed, and then suddenly snapped their fingers.

_Oh! I don’t think Ash can talk to ghosts, that’s right—hah, how silly of me! I guess I’m the only one who can._

     Bard cleared their throat. Ash looked at them with a bemused expression.

     “I take it you called my ghost mom,” Ash said, “but, uh, she just speaks in weird static and noises to me.”

     “Don’t worry,” Bard said, standing between them, “I can translate for you! I did it for the people of Langtree just the other day.”

     “Wait, what?”

     “I’m game,” said Ash’s mom. She drifted to rest against the room’s solitary dresser, eyes closed and accordion at the ready.

     “All you have to do is play,” Bard said, turning to Ash, who still stood with a stiff back and tension in their shoulders. “I’ll do the rest with my voice.”

     “If you say so,” Ash said, and hefted their accordion to their chest. Their butterfly pin caught the late afternoon sunlight with a brilliant flash.

     Bard nodded to Ash’s mother, and she began to play a low loop of two simple chords that Bard followed with their own voice. Hearing them, Ash played a complementary set of notes, weaving their melody and pumping the bellows of their accordion in time. Bard kept their own singing methodical and timely, keeping a bridge between the two instrumentalists. They closed their eyes and leaned into the music.

     When they opened their eyes, Ash’s ghost mom was gone, and Ash themself hastily wiped away tears from their cheeks.

     “She was there,” they said, their voice strained but bright. “I could hear her. She was there, in the sound of her accordion, just like I remember…”

     They broke off, smiling.

     “She said a lot of cheesy things. But I know she’s proud of me. And she wants me to ‘spread my wings and shine’—see, I told you it was cheesy, hah.”

     “So, you’ll…?” Bard started.

     “Yeah, I’ll play with you,” Ash said. “In Mom’s memory, if nothing else. Give me a minute to get my stuff together.”

     Bard practically danced with carefully reined impatience in the hallway, waiting for Ash, and the instant they locked their room behind them Bard took them by the hand and tugged them along outside.

     The sky was rich with gold, the shadows drawn like charcoal streaks across the town. Crows cawed from the treetops now that dusk was approaching. Gossip followed Bard and Ash as they wormed through the streets in search of Manny and Viola, gossip that lingered on ‘a real performance’ and ‘the Crazy Raven’. Ash’s palm was sweaty in Bard’s hand, but they kept their chin up and soldiered on, footsteps against cobbled stone.

     Bard’s stomach grumbled. They’d been so preoccupied that they’d skipped both dinner _and_ any semblance of an afternoon snack, but now wasn’t the time for food.

     Up ahead, standing under an empty shop’s awning, Manny waved and Viola pretended not to look excited even as she cradled her violin case.

     Bard grinned.

     Now was the time for _song_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave Ash a surname with intention: Demian is a reference to Cyrill Demian, who patented the accordion in 1829 in Vienna. I went down a deep rabbit hole of accordion history just for one tiny piece of a fanfic. sometimes it be like that
> 
> (updates take a while because I have work and a million other projects, so bear with me haha)
> 
> thanks for reading! <3


	10. Chapter 10

     Miriam stood outside the Crazy Raven, arms folded, tapping her foot impatiently along with the faint drum rhythm leaking through the walls. Applause roared as the band launched into another number. Miriam huffed.

_Of course they’re not done yet,_ she grumbled. _They get lost in their own happy side quests, completely blow me off, and then decide to put on a show for the whole town. They ask me to meet them at eight. It’s eight-o-five. And they’re_ still _playing… whatever, I’ll just catch them when they leave. It sounds like this concert isn’t wrapping up any time soon._

     Miriam turned her back on the concert hall and meandered down the hill. Delphi was far from bustling on a normal day, but nighttime carried an uneasy, sleepy sense of peace along its empty streets. The few leaves that littered the ground crinkled in the wind like hollow bones. Miriam tightened the knot on her half-cape and shouldered on.

     Thankfully, the Eagle Café was still open; Miriam slunk inside, stuck her broomstick in the umbrella stand beside the door, and found herself a quiet corner next to a potted plant. Its leaves were big enough to shade her from the café’s other patrons: a burly sailor-looking fellow in a bright yellow raincoat and two of his apparent friends, a short girl with a nefarious grin, and the dark-skinned woman who’d tried to sell Bard a hundred thousand beans that afternoon. Miriam blew a raspberry under her breath and set her travel bag on the seat beside her, taking out a small book with an embossed leather cover.

     Grandma Sapphy’s book on the Overseers was about as beat-up and frayed along the edges as any well-loved book should be; she’d kept it in remarkably good condition, too, considering the publication date was easily a hundred and thirty years ago. The thing smelled like oak and pressed flowers. If Miriam closed her eyes, she could pretend she was back in Grandma’s living room, reading quietly while the cauldron simmered on its trivet.

     Laughter broke her train of thought. That group of strangers across the room were cracking up at some joke. There were only three of them, but they were loud enough to rival a drumset. The man in the yellow coat got up to order three more coffees and returned to his crew. Miriam shrunk further behind the potted plant.

_Jeff had better not give me trouble for not buying anything while I’m here,_ she thought, eying the man behind the counter. _I don’t have money, the library’s closed, and I’m not about to go to the Crazy Raven just to read a book. He can deal with it and sulk the whole night for all I care._

     Miriam opened the front cover of the book and thumbed through its yellowed pages. She hadn’t wanted to show up at home empty-handed again, but with Bard off on a dumb quest for Manny she’d single-handedly searched the town for information and came up short. Aside from Nate, no one really knew about the Overseer’s song—and even the self-proclaimed ‘Nate the Great’ couldn’t remember the notes.

     Miriam had flown back home around midafternoon, the maple trees a sea of red underneath her. No smoke trailed from the chimney, but the faint scent of burnt oak drifted comfortably through the air as Miriam landed on the front steps.

_Grandma, please don’t ask why I don’t have ‘my new friend’ with me,_ she’d thought as she’d opened the door.

     But the house was quiet. Sapphy was taking a nap, if her gentle snores down the stairwell were any indication. Miriam had raided the kitchen for a few more snacks, snatched the Overseers book off the living room bookshelf, and left a note on the table in her scrawly handwriting:

_Borrowing these (Overseers, peanut butter, bag of granola). Be back soon._

_\--M_

     Sapphy snored on unawares.

_I’m taking matters into my own hands,_ Miriam thought as she scanned the book in the café’s soft light. _If Bard wants to run off and get themself invested in every personal problem that comes their way, fine. It was my mission to begin with._ I’m _going to save the world._

     She skimmed the chapter on the Winds element, but nothing jumped out at her that she didn’t already know. Winds represents freedom. Overseer usually a type of bird. Nexus in the Breathing Crystals. The book mentioned Delphi, but the town it described was a smaller hamlet than Delphi today, its main attractions a great stone fountain that hadn’t quiet kept its splendor to the present day.

     Miriam flipped to the very last page, where Sapphy had drawn the eight spirit symbols against the back cover last night. In tiny letters, Miriam added the nexus points next to their corresponding symbol:

          Dreams—Tree of Slumber (Langtree)

          Winds—Breathing Crystals (Delphi)

          Chaos—Lost Waterfall (Tarakhe Sea)

_I’ll deal with that one later,_ Miriam thought. _No clue how I’ll get out to the middle of the ocean, not unless some ship at port happens to be heading that way. Most folks who dock at Delphi come from further up the coast, not the sea._

     She continued, flipping back and forth through the book to transfer the locations:

         Order—Annual Lights (Chismest)

         Sun, Moon—Sky Temple (Chaandesh-Rulle border)

          Chaandesh. Now there was a word Miriam hadn’t heard in years. Sapphy used to drop it in passing whenever she mentioned Miriam’s parents, but it had been so long Miriam had almost forgotten how to pronounce it, let alone recognize it in writing. All the book offered was a two-sentence paragraph:

_Chaandesh: magical heartland. Not much is known of this mysterious land other than its inhabitants, adept sorcerers who practice their witchcraft in secret._

_Alright, thanks, old book,_ Miriam thought, skipping ahead to the last Overseer on her list:

          Hearts—Ichor Peak (Ichor Mountain, duh)

     Storms never had an Overseer—or, at least, not a living one—so Miriam left that wheel-spoke symbol blank. The only information pertaining to Storms in the book was a myth about its origin and flat-out nothing about its denizen. Well, that was fine. One less Overseer to deal with.

     Suddenly, the short woman at the table across the room slammed her mug on the table and stood up on her chair.

     “Ruins?” she exclaimed. “Lucas, we’ve sailed past there twenty times already, and there ain’t no stinkin’ treasure that that stinkin’ monster ain’t guarding! That’s like saying there’s treasure at the Lost Waterfall, and we’ve been _there_ before, too!”

     “Nina, keep your voice down, we’re not at the Crusty Bean,” said the dark woman beside her, but whatever else she said fell flat on Miriam’s ears.

     Miriam glanced down at the chart of spirit symbols, then back at the group in the corner, struggling to keep her face neutral.

_Lost Waterfall—that’s—Eya Almighty, if your idea of a joke is throwing wild coincidences at me, you can knock it off!_

     She must not have kept her composure well enough, because the bean-seller lady caught her eye and raised a hand in greeting.

     “Hey there! You gonna come grab a seat, or are you just gonna eavesdrop all evening?” she said amicably.

     The man in the yellow coat turned to Miriam and cracked a smile so wide it could have split the hillside in two.

     “Yarr, grab a seat with us, lass!” he said. “Plenty of room! Penny, pull out a chair, eh?”

_This better be worth it,_ Miriam thought as she slunk to the table, sandwiched in between the yellow-coat man and the bean-seller lady. _If they know how to get to the Chaos Overseer’s nexus point, that’s something I can_ use _instead of sitting around Delphi waiting for the Queen of Winds’ song to just fall into my hands._

     The man in the yellow coat grinned and leaned back in his chair, coffee steam curling around his beard.

     “Name’s Lucas!” he said. “This here’s me crew—well, part of it, anyway—Penny and Nina!”

     “Charmed,” said Miriam.

     “That’s a weird name,” Nina said.

     “What? No, it’s an expression, my name’s Miriam—Ey _a_ , nevermind,” Miriam grumbled.

     Penny chuckled. She looked around the room, searching for something, but the four of them and Jeff the barrista were the only people in the Eagle Café.

     “Where’s your friend?” Penny asked Miriam. “They want more coffee beans?”

     Miriam nodded her chin at the window behind them, where the lights from the Crazy Raven blazed down the hill.

     “They’re busy ‘reviving Delphi’s music scene’,” she said. “I was supposed to meet them when they’re done, but the band is taking _forever_ to clear out. I don’t think their set is even halfway over.”

     “I wanna be in a band!” said Nina, the short girl. She slammed her mug on the table. “Lucas! Let’s start a band! We’ll call ourselves the Nautical Nightmares!”

     “Yarr, y’know we don’t have the pipes for that, Nina,” said Lucas. “Our shanties ain’t the type of song most folks want to hear.”

     “Screw those guys, then! Let’s start a _band_ , Lucas!”

     “Nina, your mug’s getting cold,” Penny said, nudging Nina’s coffee closer to her.

     Nina took the mug with both hands and slammed it back, downing the last of her drink in two impressive gulps.

     “You a coffee drinker, too?” Penny asked Miriam.

     “No way,” Miriam said. “Too bitter.”

     “Really? One would think the taste would fit you, given your own salty attitude.”

     Miriam gave her a flat glare; Penny returned it for an instant before devolving into a snort-laugh.

     “Sorry, sorry!” she said. “I couldn’t resist.”

     Lucas leaned over and gently elbowed Miriam in the arm.

     “Arr, don’t mind her,” he said. “Penny’s just havin’ a spot of fun with ye. We ain’t got much to do around here, and a fresh face is always welcome sport.”

     “You wanna come adventuring with us?” Nina asked.

     “No, no ‘adventuring’,” Miriam said. “But I need to run an errand in the Tarakhe Sea. Witch stuff.” She gestured at her naturally blue hair and the broomstick she’d left by the doorway. “If you’re headed that way anyway, I’d like to hitch a ride.”

_‘Manners, Miriam!’_ said the imaginary Grandma Sapphy in her head.

     “Please,” Miriam added through her teeth.

     Lucas looked between Penny and Nina, brows raised and lips pursed, and as a unit the three of them shrugged.

     “Sure!” Lucas said.

     “The more the merrier!” Nina said.

     “I certainly wouldn’t mind,” said Penny. “I doubt the others would, either.”

     Miriam stared. _Ey_ a.

     “Really?” she pressed. “Just like that? No interview, no background check, no weird pirate superstition about witches?”

     “We take on lots of folks throughout our travels,” Penny said, sipping her coffee. “Most of ‘em are there for discount coffee beans, but we’ve had our fair share of folks just wanting a ride to the islands. As long as you lend a hand on the ship, we don’t mind the extra company. Gets a bit lonely on the open sea sometimes.”

     “Penny’s right!” Nina said. She grinned. “We love it when randos come to hang out! Where’s yer errand, miss?”

     “Lost Waterfall,” said Miriam, “but I need to do some research first.” _I’m not about to waste more time stuck outside a nexus point because I don’t know the Overseer’s song._

     “Yarr, Lost Waterfall’s no trouble,” Lucas said. “We roam those islands all the time; easy to get around, nothin’ longer than a day or two’s travel even if the winds misbehave. As long as we stay clear of the Rullan coast, we’ll be fine.”

     “Why? What’s out there?” Miriam asked.

     Lucas scratched his beard nervously. “Arr, nothin’ to be scared of, just that, ah…”

     “War goin’ on,” said Nina. “Folks don’t wanna travel that way. ‘Course, _we_ make out just fine, bein’ pirates and all.”

     “I thought you were coffee bean sellers,” Miriam said, eying Penny suspiciously.

     “Pirates, oceanic importers, same difference,” Penny said. “We harvest the beans and drive them up and down the coast. It’s a lot of work, but everyone loves us for it.” She stopped, fanning her face. “Eya, I’m gonna crack a window; it’s awfully warm with all of us stuffed into the corner.”

     Penny stood, edged past Nina’s chair, and shoved the back window up to let in the cooler night air. Crickets chirruped, a rook cawed somewhere in the trees, and a drumbeat carried down from the Crazy Raven followed by muffled applause. Miriam propped her chin in her hand.

     “Of _course_ they’re still going,” she muttered.

     “That band’s still playing?” Lucas said. He rubbed his beard, eying the open window. “Might pop in and give ‘em a listen…”

     “Knock yourself out,” Miriam said. The last thing she wanted was to get dragged into a loud concert hall stuffed with people

     “Alright, crew, ship out!” Lucas said, rallying Nina and Penny with an emphatic wave of his arm. “Arr, thanks for the chat, miss—we leave from the harbor at noon tomorrow, so if you want to tag along, you’d best be down there before the sails raise.”

     “I’ll be there, don’t worry,” Miriam said.

     The pirates waved their goodbyes, leaving Miriam alone at the table with her book and her bag. She waited until their voices disappeared up the hill before slumping over the table.

_Well, today was useless,_ she thought. _Ugh. At least I have a backup plan._

     She sat up, stifling a yawn. It was quarter to nine. Stuffing the Overseers book into her bag, Miriam stood, grabbed her broomstick, and marched on into the night. She mounted her broom and coasted above Delphi, the glow of the Crazy Raven beneath her. If the whole town was there, it’d be hours before the hype died down enough for her to swoop in and drag Bard out by the collar of their shirt.

_Idiot wasted a whole day running around town for Manny instead of helping_ me _get to the Queen of Winds. Well, whatever. If Bard doesn’t find that song by noon tomorrow…_

     The harbor was a blanket of night at Delphi’s edge, slashed through by moonlight. Even in the shadows, Miriam could make out the silhouette of a great three-masted galleon.

_…I’m moving on without them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Tarakhe" is the greek word for "disorder" (according to etymology online)
> 
> thanks for being patient; my mood's been kinda down lately. 
> 
> next chapter is gonna try to cover a lot of ground in a vaguely eloquent manner
> 
> thanks for reading


	11. Chapter 11

_Stage lights. Acoustic sound. Thunderous applause._

     Bard clipped their heels together as they strode down the hill, giddy with lingering adrenaline. The performance last night was a rush that still sang in their veins even as the midmorning sun burned off the fog clinging to the treetops.

     Their voice, surging above the crowd to linger among the acoustics.

     Manny and his drum kit, pounding out a beat ripe with snares.

     Viola and her violin, serenading the Crazy Raven with arpeggios.

     Ash with their accordion, knees wobbling like reeds in a gale, marching back out alone to play their mother’s ceremonial tune:

     The Song of Winds.

_Miriam’s going to be so happy!_ Bard thought, unable to quell the grin on their face. _Er, well, at least_ pleased _or_ pleasantly surprised _; I don’t think I’ve seen her actually happy… or at least smile. But that’ll change! I know the Overseer’s Song! We can talk to the Queen of Winds!_

     They slowed as they entered the main plaza, scanning around the fountain and the empty gray stones for Miriam.

_If I can find her, that is,_ they added.

     Yesterday, no one had paid them much mind, but now all of a sudden the faces on the streets looked at Bard with recognition and approval, flashing them a smile or friendly nod as they searched Delphi’s streets for Miriam.

     As they rounded Holmes’ Sweets, they ran into Viola, arm slung through Ash’s as the two of them shared another victory box of chocolates.

     “Oh, _there_ you are!” Viola said, beaming at Bard. “You were sound asleep this morning in the green room! Honestly, it’s a wonder you slept through Manny moving that hellacious drum set back and forth.”

     “I guess I was so tired from the performance, I slept through it,” Bard said. “How are you two?”

     “Absolutely divine,” Viola said.

     Ash shrugged, filling their mouth with chocolate so they wouldn’t have to speak. Their cheeks were slowly turning the same soft pink as their hair.

     “Manny really came through this time—surprisingly—and we’re thinking of taking the show on the road!” Viola continued. “How about it? Want to travel with us? We could use your operatic voice.”

     “That’s very sweet of you,” Bard said, “but I’m already on a quest.”

     “What is it?” asked Ash.

     “I’m going to learn the Earthsong and save the world!”

     Viola giggled. “Really? That sounds like an awfully large task. But, you managed to rope _us_ into a band, even with Manny frontlining, so… it’s not impossible. Maybe we’ll see you on your big heroic journey, hm?”

     “I hope so!” Bard said. “But I really ought to find my friend, Miriam. It was really nice meeting you and getting to play together! If I don’t see Manny, tell him it was fun and I wish him good luck!”

     They waved goodbye and hurried down another winding cobblestone street. The morning sun lit up the bay with streaks of silver, the waterfront pleasantly quiet and ripe with salt in the air. Leaves that dropped from the trees here fell onto the water and lodged themselves between cracks in the boardwalk. Bard knelt to free a few leaves and sent them drifting in the wind.

     They found Miriam standing in the shade under a fish tackle shop, her broom and traveling bag resting on a pile of coiled rope. She was busy chatting with a burly-looking fellow in a yellow coat and scraggly beard. Seeing her, Bard’s heart leapt with excitement and they ran up beside her.

     “Miriam!” they exclaimed.

     Miriam froze mid-sentence, her shoulders hiked up like an electric current ran through her spine. She fixed Bard with a flat glare.

     “What.”

     “I found it!” Bard said. “The song—the Overseer’s song! It turns out Ash knew it; they played it at the show last night! Isn’t that great, Miriam? Now we can go see the Queen of Winds and learn the Earthsong!”

     Miriam’s eyes widened for the barest moment before she frowned.

     “Great,” she said. “Have fun.”

     Bard faltered, fingers curled as they withdrew a friendly hand before it could reach Miriam’s shoulder.

     “You aren’t coming?” they asked.

     “No. What do you need me for? Apparently you’ve figured it all out on your own. Besides, I have business I need to deal with.”

     “What kind of business?”

     “Business that doesn’t concern you.”

     Bard looked between her and the bearded man, who could have been a pirate any day of the week if he wasn’t standing awkwardly in the middle of a boardwalk. He kept his hands in his pockets with an expression that screamed ‘I’m not getting involved with this’.

     “That’s okay,” Bard said to Miriam, forcing a smile. “I’ll meet you back here when I’m done talking with the Overseer, then?”

     Miriam didn’t reply; she waved a hand at Bard and turned away to resume her conversation with the bearded man. Bard waited a second too long just in case, but as far as Miriam was concerned, Bard no longer existed the moment she turned her back. Bard quietly retreated and kept that plastered smile on their face until they were well beyond Delphi’s town limits. When the red maple leaves drifted in front of them, Bard sidestepped to avoid crushing them.

_I thought she’d be happy,_ they thought, following the road down to the cavern under the hill. _Maybe she didn’t sleep well? And who was she talking to?_

_One thing at a time,_ they interrupted themself. _Overseer first, cheer Miriam up second._

     The Breathing Crystals were easy to find; they swept down a small chasm with natural stairs carved out of the cave walls, growing larger and larger the deeper Bard went. Just like yesterday, the crystals along the walls pulsed with soft iridescent light when they tuned themselves to Bard’s breathing. At the bottom of the pit was a massive crystal coiled like a wave frozen in place, easily twice Bard’s height with room to spare. Soft chimes echoed from its facets as it glowed, expectant, waiting for the notes that would unlock the spirit world.

     Bard stood straight and tall, eyes closed and hand over their heart, as they relayed Ash’s song to the crystal. The ground swept away underneath them, and for a gut-lurching moment space itself seemed to fall apart as the boundary between the worlds blurred.

     The first thing that hit them was the wind.

     Standing on a green stone platform covered in mica flecks, Bard opened their eyes to an endless sea-green sky laced with yellow and green wind currents. Warm wind played with the feather in their cap; a rougher gust nagged at their capelet; a soft, barely present gale caressed Bard’s cheek as it swirled away to join a new updraft. The air here was humid and sweet like a meadow after a rainstorm. Bard breathed deeply and rocked back on their heels, savoring the sweet rush of oxygen.

     The angel wasn’t there to guide them, but Bard could see their destination clearly enough: on a pillar of jagged teal crystal sat a grand palace with domed towers and a brilliant gold dome at its center. It wasn’t nearly as far away as the Dream King’s castle had been—no winding cliffs and sulphur-yellow clouds, no flowers and vines willing to ferry them from rock to rock.

     No, the only problem here was the bottomless sky.

     Bard squinted, pacing the length of the short stone platform, scanning the horizon for anything they could walk to—but the platform ended a scant twenty feet across, and the nearest stable ground was easily a hundred feet away tethered to a pillar shrouded by mist. Yellow and blue crystals grew like plants from the bedrock beneath them and sparkled as Bard paced back and forth.

_When in doubt, sing,_ they thought, taking a lungful of the sweet spirit air.

     They made it halfway through a mixolydian scale when the gusts of wind curved down to bow at their feet.

     “Oh!” Bard sang, “Hello, wind! Will you help me see the Overseer?”

     The wind swept around them in a spiral striped with sage green, hugging them close before kicking them off their feet into a freefall.

     Bard laughed, letting their voice guide the wind ever upwards to the Queen of Winds’ palace. Whenever they stopped to take a breath, the wind dropped them through meters of empty sky until they resumed singing—never malicious, always cheerful, tossing Bard from wind to wind as they sang through this new modal scale. Bard kept one hand on their hat so it wouldn’t blow away and coasted through the air, weaving around pillars of shimmering crystal until finally the wind surged and deposited them in the middle of a fenced-in garden outside the palace.

     “Thank you!” they told the wind.

     A playful gust nearly took their hat with it as it swept farewell, disappearing off the cliff to join the other drafts with their swirls of color. Bard waved goodbye and followed the short gravel path to the palace’s main doors. They knocked twice, pressed their ear against the door, and knocked again when no response came.

_I guess I’ll let myself in,_ they thought. _The Dream King didn’t mind. Then again, he was asleep, but…_

     Their footsteps echoed across the polished stone floor. The halls were well-dusted but empty, the glass scones along the walls unlit and cold. Gold inlay on the walls depicted brilliant feathers and sweeping paisley designs, but the borders were chipped, and here and there pieces of the inlay were missing and had gone unreplaced.

_I wonder why no one’s here,_ Bard thought as they roamed the palace. _Why have all this space if you don’t have guests to fill it?_

     Their search led them down echoing corridors and up a flight of wide marble stairs to a cavernous room with a vaulted ceiling. Part of the gold dome above them was broken up by a ring of windows, open to let in the sweet outside air; light filtering through the glass shone upon a grand suite of pipes molded from translucent green crystal in the center of the room. A swirl of wind milled beneath them, minding its own unmusical business.

     As Bard approached, they noticed a rather dissatisfied-looking raven with a bright green scarf perched on the topmost pipe. The bird took one look at Bard and let his wings droop.

     “Oh, great,” he said in a nasally voice, “another back-alley nuisance. Can I _help_ you?”

     “I’m looking for the Queen of Winds,” Bard said. “Are you her fairy?”

     “What gave it away? The fact I’m sitting here by her court instrument? The fact that I’m a bird, which all Winds elementals have to be? I guess that’s all I am, now, her little secretary. I’m not even a secretary bird to begin with! If she wants one of _those_ , she can talk to the patrol scheduled to the Eyrie Dome!”

     “Patrol?” Bard asked. “Oh, so other people _do_ live here! I didn’t see anybody when I came in—where are they? Why is such a beautiful palace so empty?”

     “The Queen’s guards are training in the front courtyard. You came in the back way, like some kind of miscreant.”

     “Oh.”

     “Now, will you please leave?”

     “I can’t,” Bard said, tugging on their fingerless gloves. “Not until I speak with the Queen of Winds. It’s very important.”

     The raven rolled his eyes and peered down over the side of the pipe. His beak was hooked in a perpetual frown.

     “Look, kid,” he said, “no one’s wanted an audience with the Queen in ages, and, trust me, you don’t want to talk to her right now. She’s a total pushover. Absolutely useless without me around telling her what’s good and what isn’t. Do yourself a favor, turn around, and go home.”

     The fairy shook out his wings with a huff and began to preen. Bard frowned.

_I’m not getting turned away that easily,_ they thought. Leaning up on their tip-toes, they stuck their head into the pipe underneath the Fairy of Winds and sang the loudest A they could muster.

     The raven squawked; a few black feathers fell to the ground as he fluttered to a different pipe.

     “Will you stop that?” he shouted. “The Queen’s organ is _not_ a toy!”

     “May I go see her, then?” Bard said.

     “No!”

     Bard shrugged, sidled to the next pipe, and sang an even louder A-sharp. A streak of green wind whirled up to help and shook the pipe like a tuning fork. The raven vibrated before he could unhinge his talons and grimaced, flapping in place against the musical gale.

     “Stop that!” he yelled.

     He flew from pipe to pipe looking for a safe perch, but no matter where he landed Bard was there to sing a disruptive note and shake the organ pipes with their pitch-perfect frequency. After a tedious minute, the fairy clenched his talons in two tiny fists and shook one at Bard.

     “Forget this!” he shouted. “You want to deal with her? Fine! I’m out!”

     He flapped his wings and soared to one of the open windows, scattering black feathers in his wake. Bard picked one up and tucked it in their cap beside the red one.

     A great shadow loomed over the pipe organ.

     “Who is making all that racket?” boomed a regal voice. “And why on earth has my squire left me?”

     Bard turned around, straightened their capelet clasp, and hoped they weren’t blushing from embarrassment. The chamber around them had disappeared under a shroud of darkness, and two yellow eyes peered down at them from an indistinct shadow. Bard politely bowed and addressed the Overseer:

     “I need your help, Queen of Winds! The world is ending, and I came here to learn the Earthsong from you, if you’re willing. Will you please teach it to me?”

_Be polite and do what they say,_ Bard thought, remembering the Dream Fairy’s advice. _Hopefully the Queen is more willing to teach me than the Dream King was._

     The shadows vibrated around them. The Overseer’s eyes narrowed, and in a flash of green light the Queen of Winds stood before them, wringing her wings together with worry. She was squat and nervous, the color of sun-bleached grass, easily a head taller than Bard if she stood up straight instead of hunch over her own talons. Her jade-studded crown was askew.

     “I… is that what you think I should do?” she asked timidly.

     “Huh?” said Bard.

     “I mean, the Earthsong is important,” the Queen continued, her voice thin like a taut violin string. “It’s the voice of the entire world… so should I teach it to you? Just like that? Because you asked so sweetly?”

_The Fairy wasn’t kidding,_ Bard thought. _The Queen of Winds is having a lot of trouble thinking for herself._

     “Are you… asking me?” they said.

     “I don’t know, I don’t know!” the Queen stammered. “I’m so confused… I’m not supposed to give the Earthsong to anyone who walks through the spirit world… but you seem so nice, so I don’t know what to do! Oh, bother…”

     She preened nervously, tugging out a few feathers that drifted to the shadowy floor. Bard bit their lip. Waiting for her to make a decision on her own would take hours at this rate.

     “Well,” they said carefully, “if it makes you feel better, I’m learning the Earthsong to save the world, which is definitely a good thing—so you teaching it to me would be a good thing, too!”

     The Queen of Winds stopped. “You think so?” she asked.

     “I know so!”

     “Oh, good! Then—then I’ll do it!”

     The Queen hopped from foot to foot in glee. When she settled down, she folded one elegant wing behind her back and raised the other like she was holding a conductor’s baton.

     “Stand still for me, please,” she said.

     Bard nodded. They closed their eyes, listening intently for something musical, but what came to their ears wasn’t song but _feeling_ , pure unbridled elation and joy, the kind of rush that came with open skies and the wind in your hair as you hurtle towards the unknown. The epitome of freedom went beyond the landscape; it was soul-searching, triumphant, victorious and true. Bard heard themself laugh far away through layers of heavy clouds.

     They blinked, finally returning to themself in the chamber with the grand pipes and the Queen before them. A rush of air left their lungs.

     “Wow,” they breathed.

     “The Earthsong is more than pure music,” explained the Queen of Winds. She winced, rubbing her temples. “It’s about harmony among all aspects of life. The other Overseers’ parts encompass different elements of the world, or, at least, that’s what I remember.”

     “Thank you so much!”

     “You’re welcome; you were quite persuasive, after all.” She winced again. “I think I’m getting a headache from all this decision-making… you can find your way out of the palace, right? The way you came in?”

     Bard nodded.

     “Good, good, uhm, there’s a portal to the outside world in the garden. I need to lie down. On your way out, if you happen to see my little squire… please tell him to come home, okay?”

     “I will,” said Bard, and just like that the Queen of Winds ushered them away.

     The garden was as trim and neat as it was when Bard first got there, but perched on one of the elegant statues was the Fairy of Winds, feathers in a tussle and scarf billowing in the breeze. Bard came up to him and tapped lightly on the statue.

     “Oh, Eya, what do you want now?” said the fairy, glaring down his beak at Bard. “Does the Queen need me to decide which color necklace to wear with her dress?”

     “Not specifically, but she does want you to come back,” Bard said.

     “So?”

     “So… I think she really likes having you around? You seem like one of her only friends.”

     The raven gave them a hard stare.

     “You’re joking, right?” he asked. “That Queen’s got _issues_. I’ve got half a mind to just spread my wings and fly on out of here before she can blink.”

     “But it seems like she really needs you—”

     “Listen, bucko, my job is to squire for the Queen of Winds—freedom, direction, that kind of stuff—not the Queen of Wishy-Washy I-Can’t-Make-Up-My-Mind-Today. I mean, it’s my only home, and… I don’t really have a family I can hang out with… and none of the other birds here really get me, but…”

     The Fairy of Winds trailed off, studying the rock beneath his talons. Bard watched him expectantly. After a few hard seconds the raven grumbled into his wings.

     “I don’t know why I keep letting her do this to me… ugh, fine. Her Majesty’s faithful servant to the end of eternity, here I go.”

     He broke off, giving Bard a displeased, beady look.

     “The big statue of the Queen will take you out of here. Good riddance.”

     “It was nice meeting you, too,” Bard said, but the raven had already flown off through an open window back into the palace.

     Bard sighed. They couldn’t please everyone, but it still stung. Burying their troubles under more important thoughts, Bard approached the gateway and let it bring them back to their own world, coughing slightly at the much drier air around the Breathing Crystals.

     They must have spent at least an hour in the spirit world, yet the sun streaming through the cave mouth above them looked just as bright as it had when they’d entered. Judging from the slant, hardly half an hour had passed. Bard laughed, a broad smile on their soft face.

_And Miriam was worried about wasting time,_ they thought, starting up the path towards the cave exit. _This was easy! It felt like I was never going to learn the Earthsong, but I have one piece down already!_

      “Hey, human!”

     Bard looked over their shoulder; the big troll from yesterday’s trek was lumbering down to meet them, ears flicking back and forth uncertainly. He came to a stop a friendly distance away and scratched his chiseled chin.

     “If it isn’t Mr. Troll!” Bard said. “What brings you down here?”

     “Your voice sounds different,” the troll said. “I heard you sing to Breathing Crystals.”

     He jerked his head towards the cave’s recesses.

     “You sing to my boyfriend. Maybe this time it works.”

     “You think so?” Bard said, smiling.

     “Not really. But it’s worth a shot.”

     Bard’s face fell, but the troll was already lumbering up the winding path into the cavern. The troll led them up the steep rocky shelves into his den, where his boyfriend stood paralyzed in the same agonizing pose as yesterday. His fur crackled with electricity.

     “Don’t get too close,” the troll said, “but, uhm, please do something.”

     Bard nodded. They kept their distance, shoulders back and chest out, but faltered when they opened their mouth. What could they possibly sing that could heal something like this? All the songs they’d performed before were idle melodies without much meaning, or folk songs Marley and Francine had taught them back in Langtree. The Overseer’s songs might work, but—

     All of a sudden, a gust of wind surged through the cavern, knocking the troll’s belongings off the rocky shelves and tugging at the hem of Bard’s capelet. They pressed a hand to their hat to keep it from flying away, but in that gale was a single stalwart note that hummed in Bard’s chest.

_I’m going to save the world,_ Bard thought. _But, more importantly, I’m going to save these people—er, trolls, but same idea. Here goes nothing…_

     They closed their eyes, letting the spirit of the wind move them. When they sang, their voice filled the cavern:

 

_My whole life no one’s noticed_

_or expected much from me;_

_They think a silly singer_

_is all I’m meant to be._

_But now the world is ending_

_and I’m not gonna hide;_

_I’m just a bard, but I’ll work hard_

_to show them what’s inside—_

_I want to be a hero,_

_control my life’s events;_

_I’ll use my song to prove them wrong_

_and make a difference!_

 

     The last triumphant notes left Bard’s lips and they stood still, hesitant to open their eyes and find the troll unaffected. But when they squinted one eye open, Bard nearly laughed with relief.

     The two trolls were squashed together in a hug so tight it would have flattened a human like a pancake between them; not a trace of lightning remained on the poor troll’s fur aside from a few patches of blackened ash. Bard wiped away a tear from their eyes.

     “Thank you, human!” the first troll bellowed.

     “Yes, thank you!” added the second.

     “When you sang in strange static, I got worried,” said the first troll, quieter, loosening his grip on his boyfriend only enough to ruffle his head. “But then, flash of light, and boom! Boyfriend all better! Can kiss without getting electrocuted!”

     “Ew, gross,” said the singed troll, grinning.

_Static?_ Bard thought. _That must be spirit language. I remember it sounded weird until the Dream King let me understand it. I’ll have to ask Miriam about it…_

     “I’m glad you’re all better!” Bard said. “I’d stay to chat, but I need to find my friend and tell her all about what happened!”

     “Go on, have fun,” said the first troll, waving a clawed hand at the exit.

     “You might say… have a ‘roaring’ good time?” said the singed troll. He nudged his partner in the ribs. “Eh? Get it? Because trolls?”

     “Is it too late to get the terrible human to come curse you again?”

     “Har, har.”

     The troll with singed fur waved at Bard, giving them a cheeky grin.

     “Thanks again,” he said. “You seem nice. Come back any time, decent human being.”

_That’s… certainly a nickname,_ Bard thought as they clambered down the rocks and out of the caves. They took a deep breath and walked back to town, heading around the south side towards the boardwalk where they’d seen Miriam earlier that day. But despite Delphi’s rather small harbor, they couldn’t see Miriam anywhere. A clock hanging off the fish tackle shop said it was a half hour to noon. Bard scratched the back of their head, puzzled.

     “Oh. There you are.”

     Bard turned; Miriam had touched down on her broomstick half a meter away, her bag laden with a few more pouches than before. Her face was an unreadable stone.

     “You came back faster than I thought. Overseer actually helped you this time?”

     “Yeah!” Bard said. “She taught me part of the Earthsong!”

     “Joy. Listen…”

     Miriam dismounted, taking a deep breath through her nose. She kept one hand on her broomstick and perched the other on her hip.

     “You’ve had a nice little adventure, yeah?” she said. “Lots of fun helping the people, being a good citizen sort of thing?”

     “Absolutely!”

     “Cool. Fun part ends here.”

     Behind Miriam, the bearded man in the yellow coat emerged from a galleon tethered to the dock and began tying rope around a few crates on the boardwalk, hauling them up to someone else on the deck. One of the great white sails unfurled with a flap along the main mast.

     “What do you mean?” Bard asked.

     “The next nexus point—Overseer of Chaos—is in the middle of the Tarakhe Sea. I’ve already arranged a ride with these, uh, sailors. We’re supposed to leave in half an hour, but I can fly you to the other side of the caves so you can head home yourself. Or, you can stay here in Delphi, since you obviously like the locals so much. Your choice. But I’m leaving.”

_Oh._

     Bard bit the inside of their cheek, one hand furiously picking at the other hand’s glove. This was it, then. One piece of the Earthsong down and they were being asked to stand by. No more adventure. No more travel, no more new friends, no more heroic quest.

     A second sail unfurled from the ship. Bard looked out over the sparkling bay.

     “No,” they said.

     “Excuse me?”

     “I know what game you’re playing,” they said with a chuckle, “and it won’t work—there’s always a third option, and that third option is I’m coming with you! I want to save the world, and you want to save the world, so we’ll save the world _together_ , Miriam, just like your grandmother said.”

     “First of all, Sapphy didn’t tell you to tag along with me _everywhere_ ,” Miriam stammered, “and secondly, I—you can’t just—it’s—Eya Almighty, why do I keep getting pulled into this—”

     She broke off and covered her face with her hands, grumbling something unintelligible. When she removed them, her face was red, but she looked Bard up and down with something approaching approval in her eyes.

     “You’re serious?” she asked.

     Bard nodded.

     “Positively serious?”

     “I don’t think I’ve ever been more serious about something in my life!” Bard said. “Well, maybe when I asked Marley to help me make my outfit, but that’s different.”

     Miriam quirked an eyebrow.

     “Alright, then listen up. No more silly side quests to help random strangers. No more rushing off because you saw a helpless bug on the sidewalk. If you’re going to be serious about this, then you need to focus and work with me to find the Overseer’s songs as quickly as possible.”

     “I will!” Bard said. “I promise, Miriam!”

     Miriam nodded, and wordlessly gestured for them to board the ship as she grabbed her broom.

     “Ey _a_ , don’t let this be a mistake,” she whispered.

     Bard put on their best people-pleasing smile and followed her aboard, shuffling out of the way as the crew yanked on ropes and winches to set sail. Miriam quickly disappeared to the crow’s nest, but Bard stayed on the deck, watching the sails snap as they caught the wind. Bard looked up at the tallest mast and smiled.

_Don’t worry, Miriam,_ they thought. _I won’t let you down!_

     With a rumble, the anchor lifted off the rocky bottom of the bay, and the ship coasted forward as the crew cheered. Bard looked over their shoulder at Delphi and waved goodbye.

     Red leaves followed them into the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> act 2 is over! now it is time.... for pirates. >:)
> 
> here's another fun extrapolation/interpretation: there are 7 musical modes according to which note the scale is based on and the corresponding group of intervals (ionian, dorian, phrygian, lydian, mixolydian, aeolian, and locrian). I figured it would be a fun musical quirk to have each Overseer's realm tied to a different modal scale, even though I'm positive that's not how the actual soundtrack translates. but hey..... that's why it's interpretation :) 
> 
> I updated my profile a little so I'm no longer just "hi welcome to chili's" lol
> 
> thank you for reading and for all your LOVELY comments & kudos <333


	12. Chapter 12

_Why. Why me. Why did Eya decide I had to suffer like this. Why. Why. Why._

     Miriam pressed her forehead with one hand, using the other to keep her balance against the railing on the Lady Arabica’s stern. They’d been sailing for the whole afternoon ever since leaving Delphi’s harbor, letting the wind push them south across the endless swath of blue. Humid air clung uncomfortably to Miriam’s skin. She checked her broom for the fifth time to make sure it hadn’t rolled off into the sea, but it was there, leaning against a small crate that smelled like fish.

     Miriam glanced up at the clouds. Gulls had bullied her out of the airspace almost as soon as they’d hit the open ocean, leaving her grounded next to the one person who didn’t seem to be fazed by anything.

     “I spy with my little eye… something… blue!”

     Miriam sighed. “Is it the _ocean_ , Bard?”

     “Nooo,” Bard said in a sing-song voice. “It’s your hair, Miriam!”

     “Wow. Never would’ve guessed.”

     “I think you would have,” Bard said. They hopped onto the railing beside her, swinging their legs back and forth too recklessly for someone perched over the back end of a galleon. “There aren’t that many blue things out here aside from the ocean and the sky.”

     Miriam rubbed her temples. Sometimes she seriously wondered whether Bard was language-deficient in sarcasm.

     “We’ve been playing this game for over an hour,” she said. “Why don’t you go bother one of your new pirate friends for a change?”

     “Well, I was,” Bard said, “but then Francisco told me to either stay out of the way or pack myself up in a cargo crate until we reach Tatango. I hope he wasn’t being literal…”

     “With you, everything’s at face value,” said Miriam, rolling her eyes.

     She eyed the bald man at the wheel just ahead. Francisco was by far the most sane member of the crew; he never smiled, he never cracked more than a deadpan tone, and he never gave in to the rest of the crew’s japes. If Miriam hadn’t met Lucas beforehand, she’d’ve assumed Francisco was the captain, with or without a tricorn hat.

     “Can you at least get off the railing?” she said. “You’re gonna fall, and I for one am not flying down after you.”

     Bard hopped to their feet, steadying themself as the ship hit another wave. They breathed the salty air and sighed like it was the best thing in the world.

     “Are you sure you don’t want company?” they asked.

     “I’m fine.”

     Miriam crossed her arms and tapped her foot long enough for Bard to take the hint and venture off towards the bow. As soon as they disappeared down the ladder to the main deck, Miriam resumed her sulking, trying not to think about the empty horizon and the lurch of the ship every time a wave hit.

     She’d almost gotten away from them. She was certain that they would have spent longer in the spirit world, that she would’ve had time to fly across Delphi and past the hills, get what she needed from her room, and leave the harbor behind before Bard knew what had happened. She’d _almost_ gotten away. But, Eya’s hand or not, they were the thorn in her side that never knew how not to smile.

     ‘ _I’m coming with you, Miriam!’_

     It was a bold new attitude, that was certain, but as Miriam eyed Bard on the main deck teaching Nina a silly dance on her way to the crow’s nest, she was beginning to regret letting them tag along on her mission.

     And it was _her_ mission.

     Yes, Bard was the one who’d talked to the Dream King, and yes, Bard was the one who’d gotten the Earthsong piece from the Queen of Winds, but—but those were technicalities, those were flukes. Mistakes. Slip-ups that were no one’s fault but Miriam’s.

     She let out an irate sigh and rubbed her temples. It was too damned hot out here.

     At the wheel, Francisco looked down at Bard fawning over the crew and scoffed.

     “They _love_ pirates, don’t they,” he said.

     “Guess so,” said Miriam.

     Francisco harrumphed under his breath. “Well, let’s hope they keep their enthusiasm at bay, because I for one am not going to clean up fifty broken mugs because some hooligan land-lubber is a klutz.”

     “Finally, someone gets it!” Miriam said. “Bard and I are on a mission to save the world—we don’t have time to be silly, we can’t _afford_ it. Literally, because we have no money.”

     “Hrm. Then you’d best behave yourselves on board,” Francisco said, “because I do not tolerate silliness. Don’t break anything. Don’t snoop around the cargo. Don’t touch the ropes, the rigging, or the anchor because I swear to Eya I will throw you off the _Lady Arabica_ myself.”

     “You’ve got my word on it,” Miriam said with a snort, “but Bard might misbehave. If you need me to, I can fly them on my broom and toss them overboard myself.”

     “Good enough.”

     Francisco hunched his shoulders, leaning over the wheel.

     “Of course they brought you two on board without consulting me,” he muttered, just loud enough for Miriam to hear. “Typical. I’m the navigator, yet whatever hare-brained schemes Lucas comes up with are what goes around here. Day in and day out it’s nonstop chatter, nonstop commotion and nonstop silliness.”

     He broke off scowling. The dark circles under his eyes were like half-moons swiped in charcoal.

     “Ugh, I can’t remember the last time I slept,” Francisco said.

     “Then take a nap, silly!” came a peppy voice coming up the ladder.

     Miriam glanced over with disdain; Penny, the dark-skinned woman she’d bantered with at the Eagle Café in Delphi the night before, swung up to the rear deck with a cocky smile and glinting gold earrings. Penny winked at her and settled herself against the railing.

     “I can’t sleep at the wheel, Penny,” Francisco said, “that’s irresponsible.”

     “Then get someone else to take over for a bit!”

     “For the last time, you aren’t allowed to steer the ship anymore, thanks to the Barrier Reef incident.”

     Penny blew him a raspberry. “That was one time, Francis!”

     “And the hull has never been the same.” He grumbled as an afterthought, “And don’t call me Francis, either.”

     “I’ll call you whatever I like, and you can’t do a thing about it.”

     “Penny, please…”

     Miriam rolled her eyes. She tuned out their banter and watched the rest of the crew mill around the main deck.

     The Lady Arabica’s crew had their ship-rigging down to a science—like clockwork, they took turns hauling the lines and tilting the topsails to catch as much breeze as they could. Once they’d let Delphi shrink into the distance, the crew shed their jackets and rolled up their sleeves, free to the whims of high seas fashion. Lucas had snatched a tricorner hat from a peg inside the main cabin the instant the anchor was raised; Nina had run up to the crow’s nest and tied a bright orange bandana around her straw-like hair; even Penny, who had been wearing rather incongruous clothes by Delphi’s standards, had tied her bushy hair up in a bun and loosened the neckline on her blouse.

     Miriam picked at her own long sleeves and tried not to think about the oppressive heat. There was barely any shade on this Eya-forsaken ship, and being cooped up in the hull made her antsy for the sky.

     Not like the seagulls were letting her have any peace and quiet up there. She had half a mind to blast them away, but imagining the pitying look Bard would give her when they found out wasn’t worth the trouble.

     “You want something lighter to put on?” Penny asked, shaking Miriam from her thoughts.

     “No,” Miriam said.

     Penny quirked an eyebrow. “Really? ‘Cause you seem to be sweating something fierce, and we’ve barely cleared the coastline. Heat only gets worse once we hit Tatango; the whole island chain down there’s swimming in humidity. Something to do with the wind cells.”

     Miriam could feel the trail of sweat down her back, but she didn’t dare loosen her frown. Penny laughed.

     “Aw, don’t tell me Francis gave you the grumps, too,” she teased.

     “That’s not my name,” Francisco said over his shoulder.

     Penny stuck out her tongue at his back. She smiled at Miriam.

     “He’s allergic to fun. But, then again, you’re awfully prickly even without Francisco’s terrible curse, eh?”

     Penny winked. Miriam kept her stare impassively tired.

     “Fine, fine, I get it,” Penny said. “But you’re gonna get heatstroke if you stand here sweating for too much longer. Come on with me belowdecks; I’ve got some stuff that might fit you.”

     “Do I have a choice?” Miriam asked.

     “Nope!”

     “Ugh, fine, just make this as painless as possible…”

     Miriam followed Penny down the ladder and through the chipped wooden doors leading to the ship interior, relishing the shade but cringing at the stuffy humidity. Nowhere was safe from the heat.

     Penny didn’t take her far, just down the creaky stairs and around the bend before the galley to a small room with two hammocks side by side knotted tight to a set of iron rungs on the walls. Miriam waited by the door while Penny tugged out a thick redwood chest and unlatched it, rooting through the cloth bundles inside and tossing things haphazardly onto the closest hammock.

     “Just take whatever you like,” Penny said, “but don’t go ripping the seams without permission. I like a good cutoff as much as anyone else, but some of those clothes I paid good coffee beans for, and I’d like them to stay intact as much as possible.”

     Miriam shrugged. Penny took it as a sign of approval and stood, making for the door.

     “I’ll wait outside so Nina doesn’t come rooting down here for her stash of chocolates,” she said.

     “There’s chocolate in here?” Miriam asked. “No, better question: there’s chocolate that hasn’t _melted_ in here?”

     “We gotta make mochas somehow, right?”

     “I guess?”

     “Well, anyway, have fun—if you can!”

     Penny gestured to the pile and shut the door politely behind her. Miriam waited to the count of ten before she approached the clothes, tense like a weasel in an open field. She picked the closest she could find to her normal outfit: navy capris tied at the cuffs and an orchid-purple blouse with loose bell sleeves. She tied her fuschia capelet around her shoulders even if the added weight was already making her sweat again. She needed something familiar. Something tangible that reminded her of home.

_Grandma, have you ever been this far from home before?_ Miriam thought. _When you were young, did you fly across the world and back before you settled down near Delphi? Why didn’t you tell me it would hurt?_

     She snapped her fingers and lit one of the cabin’s lanterns. This was stupid. Getting sentimental this early in the trip would only spell disaster later on.

     Miriam tucked away those thoughts along with her other clothes into her travel bag and met Penny outside the door. Penny gave her an approving once-over before she led them back to the top deck.

     It was like they’d never left. To their right: ocean. To the left: ocean. Behind them? Ocean. And Miriam didn’t need to look towards the prow to know there was empty ocean ahead, too.

     Bard was standing over by the foremost mast, handing Lucas a delicately balanced cup of coffee on a thin saucer and eagerly watching him for approval. They’d rolled up the sleeves of their own cream blouse, but that was as far as they’d gone to beat the heat. Long dark pants and a capelet that covered their chest and shoulders weren’t the best choice of clothes.

     “We’ll find something for them to wear later,” Penny said, following Miriam’s gaze. “After they’re done fawning over Lucas, anyway. They sure do love pirates, huh?”

     “I guess so,” Miriam said.

     Lucas accepted the coffee and downed it in one gulp, setting the cup and saucer down in a niche carved into one of the wooden rail posts. He clapped a hand over his chest and let out a fierce bellow that made Bard jump in surprise.

     “I feel… a _song_ comin’ on!” Lucas declared.

     Miriam pressed herself against the side of the upper deck, hoping to slink back to the cabin, but before she could make it two steps Lucas cued Bard and sang a deep middle C.

     “Ohhhh…!” he started.

     “Ohhhh,” sang Lou as he lumbered up to the main mast.

     “Ayyyy!” sang Nina from the crow’s nest.

     “Ohhhh!” sang Penny, winking at Miriam as she passed by her to stand proudly by the anchor wheel.

     “Oh, no,” grumbled Miriam.

     Lucas swung a leg onto an upturned crate and held a hand up to the sky. Bard clapped their hands together and sang a proud supporting note as Lucas belted:

_“We’re the coffee pirates, an' we sail the seas—_ ”

     “ _Searchin for de-li-cious coffee beans—!”_ Lou added, hand over his heart.

     “ _We may act tough,_ ” Penny sang, vaulting up to the top deck, “ _but we ain’t no fiends!_ ”

     Miriam thought, _That’s debatable,_ but since it fit neither the meter nor tone of the song she kept it to herself. She folded her arms and tapped her foot to the rhythm.

     “ _Un-less you try to take our sweet caffeine!_ ” Nina sang, leaning over the side of the crow’s nest to project her voice better.

     Lucas swung his leg off the crate and twirled, winking at Bard.

     “ _Call me Lucas_ ,” he sang, “ _I’m the leader of this crew!_ ”

     Bard bowed, keeping their accompanying notes loud and clear as the verse swung around to the other members of the Lady Arabica.

     “ _I’m Nina,_ ” Nina called down, “ _and I’m tougher than you!”_

     Lou waved a spatula at her, leaning back against the central mast.

     “ _Name’s Lou,_ ” he sang in his raspy baritone, “ _I’m just here to cook the food…”_

     Penny looked at Miriam with an eyebrow raised, but Miriam shook her head. No one but Eya Herself was going to get her to sing along with this ramshackle shanty.

     Penny shrugged. She opened her mouth to sing but a weasely voice cut in:

     “ _I’m Francisco, and, this song is dumb._ ”

     They all looked up at the ship’s wheel, where Francisco was staring out at the ocean with a firmly set jaw.

     Lucas coughed awkwardly; Bard stopped singing and chewed on their lip. Penny gave Francisco a stink eye and whistled, pretending to be impressed.

     “Wow, Francis, I didn’t know you took seagull-impersonation classes!” she said.

     “I don’t, and that’s not my name,” Francisco said. He turned the wheel a quarter mark, angling them into a new wind current. Waves slapped the sides of the boat and cast white spray up to the railing; Miriam brushed her arms trying to get the saltwater off.

     “Aye, well, back to work, everyone,” Lucas called, patting Bard on the shoulder before he moved to the prow, taking a telescope from his belt and scanning the horizon.

     Miriam fidgeted with her fuchsia cape. Bard caught her eye and beamed that bright smile of theirs, but the instant they raised a foot to come her way Miriam ducked through the doors and into the main cabin. Stuffy or no, she needed a quiet place to think her thoughts in peace.

     The trouble was, as she stared out the porthole at the empty ocean, her mind soared its way back to Delphi and the faint, stupid hope that maybe she’d see a red tree on the horizon.

     Blue waves drowned the view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been having some mental blocks recently and lack of motivation.. thanks for being patient as always. I've got five other projects I'm actively working on which take a lot of energy out of me. 
> 
> pirate time ahoy
> 
> miriam has regrets


	13. Chapter 13

     The ship’s hull glowed in the warm light from the oil lanterns hanging under the ceiling beams. When night fell, Lucas insisted the rest of the crew head belowdecks for some food while he took over the ship’s wheel at Francisco’s protest.

     Bard didn’t realize how hungry they were until they smelled the grilled sandwiches Lou had been making at the galley and tore into one without hesitation. Penny grabbed them a second serving before they could even ask.

     The evening wore on. Francisco brought out a set of playing cards and attempted to teach Nina a variant on blackjack, but she insisted the queen had the highest face value and slapped her palm against the deck every time she played one—and, suspiciously, had five queen cards in a four-queen deck. Eventually, Francisco gave up and went to wrest the wheel back from Lucas, muttering something about “keeping us from crashing into a reef overnight”.

     Bard fidgeted with their fingerless gloves, scanning the shadows. Someone prodded them gently in the arm.

     “What’s eatin’ you, kid?” Penny asked. “You keep looking over your shoulder like someone’s gonna gut you with a cutlass.”

     “Do— do pirates actually do that?” Bard said a pitch too high.

     “Well, _we_ certainly don’t. I don’t think we have any cutlasses, to be honest. Lou has a sword he keeps behind the bar, but I’ve never seen him use it—”

     “That’s ‘cause he’d cut a hole in the ship!” Nina said. She chugged whatever remained of her coffee and slammed the mug down on the table. “Ain’t that right, Lou ‘Butterfingers’?”

     “Mind your business, Nina!” Lou shouted across the bar.

     Nina cackled and hopped off her stool to fetch another mugful of coffee. Bard watched her leave, reluctant to ask for any kind of herbal tea—given the oppressive scent of coffee beans and saltwater that permeated the inner cabins, they doubted the Lady Arabica’s crew had even heard of tea, let alone stocked it. At the galley bar, Lou stamped some dirt-brown grounds into a press and set about a second helping of espresso for Nina.

     Penny nudged Bard in the arm again.

     “You still didn’t answer my question,” she said.

     Bard glanced at the far end of the galley at the staircase just beyond the lanternlight. They’d seen Miriam head up that way, slinking around the walls like a ghost, and even though Bard wanted to enjoy themself among the pirate crew they couldn’t help but bite their lip and pick at their fingernails.

     “I’m just worried about Miriam,” they said quietly. “She hasn’t come down to say hello at all tonight. I’m not even sure she got dinner…”

     “I think I saw her grab half a sandwich when Lou was serving,” Penny said, “but you’re right, she’s been holed up in those quarters all night. I was with her earlier and she seemed fine—by her standards, anyway. Do you think she’s ill?”

     “She might be. I’d better go check.”

     “I’ll keep your seat free. Not like anyone’s gonna take it, but it’s the thought that counts.”

     Bard gave her a smile in acknowledgement and wove their way across the room, ducking under a lantern and around the boisterous conversation and finally stopping to breathe once they’d reached the fore’s amber shadows. The ship creaked underneath them as a wave rocked against the ship, like a hand from a giant was brushing the boat with its fingers. The hatch down to the hull was hooked shut, but the stairs up to the fore quarters were empty and inviting, and Bard ascended as carefully as a deer over rocks. None of the lanterns here were lit.

_Maybe she’s out flying now that the seagulls aren’t around,_ Bard thought, about to turn away—but a shadow caught their eye in the moonlight streaming through the porthole into the cabin.

     The bottommost hammock was weighed down with a dark lump that looked suspiciously like Miriam—spiky hair, sharp shoulders, long fingers curled against her upper arms. She was still wearing that new outfit Penny lent her, but her usual dress was folded underneath her like a pillow and her fuchsia cape was draped across her middle like a blanket. She stared out the porthole, watching the waves go by.

     Bard risked a step forward.

     “…Miriam?” they said softly.

     Miriam muttered something unintelligible and turned over her shoulder to get a better look at them.

     “What do you want?” she asked.

     “Oh, uhm, nothing in particular,” Bard said. “Just wanted to see if you were feeling all right. Everyone in the galley misses you.”

     “You mean _you_ miss me, and you think guilting me by saying _everyone_ will make me come down and sing another stupid shanty with you. Hard pass.”

     Bard rubbed the back of their neck, trying not to let their discomfort show. Miriam squinted.

     “Listen, I know singing is like, your ‘thing’, but we’re not here to make friends and turn this ship into a musical theater production. We’re here to look for the Overseer of Chaos’s song.”

     “I know.”

     “So no more sea shanties. Ey _a_ , as if these pirates weren’t obnoxious enough already…”

     Bard chuckled. “The pirates are just really extroverted. I promise they don’t mean anything by it. You should try having fun sometime, too, Miriam!”

     “I’ll show _you_ ‘fun sometime’,” Miriam muttered. She shifted in the hammock, scrunching up closer to her makeshift pillow so she could look back out the porthole. Gray and black waves lapped against the boat.

     Bard waited a few more seconds before they took a cautious step forward, wincing as the floorboards creaked. Miriam’s shoulders stiffened.

     “Why don’t you want to hang out in the galley?” Bard asked. “I found a quiet corner we can sit in if you don’t want to be around the conversations.”

     “I’m not in the mood. Today’s been long enough without any added ‘social time’—I need to focus on what to do when we reach Tatango.”

     “Oh. Okay.”

     Bard stayed where they were, scanning the room for something to sit on—but the cabin’s only other hammock was a ladder’s climb above Miriam, and the only table was nailed into the wall and covered with sea charts. And if they sat on the floor, they couldn’t see Miriam at all, so standing awkwardly would have to do.

     After a few moments’ silence, Miriam let out an almost imperceptible sigh.

     “…I’ve never been this far from home before,” she whispered.

_Ah, so_ that’s _what it was…_ Bard thought. They wanted to sit on the hammock beside her, but there was no way the hammock would have liked that—or Miriam for that matter. Hard to hold a conversation with someone’s back instead of their face.

     “Are you homesick?” they asked.

     Miriam shrugged. “I guess. If that’s what this is. I don’t go far from Delphi—day trips at the most. I just hope my grandma’s okay and junk.”

     “I’m sure she is,” Bard said. “She’s a strong old lady, and she has the entire town nearby to help if something were to happen—which it wouldn’t, I’m sure, but just in case.”

     “Amazing. You should be a therapist.”

     “Well, Marley had mentioned that to me, funnily enough—”

     “Sarcasm. I’m not saddling you with my life problems.”

     Miriam shifted again in the hammock, trying to find a comfortable position and grumbling under her breath. She waved a hand at the general direction of the galley.

     “Go have fun with your new pirate buddies, or whatever,” she said. “I need some ‘me time’ right now.”

     Bard frowned, resisting the urge to go over and put a hand on Miriam’s shoulder.

_If she doesn’t want to talk, that’s okay,_ they thought. _I’ll find a place to, uh, stand quietly so she doesn’t have to be alone with her thoughts…_

     Bard took a step forward.

     The floor creaked.

     “That means _leave me alone_ ,” Miriam snapped, whirling over her shoulder to stare daggers at Bard.

     Bard startled, almost tripping backwards into the table. Miriam’s glare could have sparked lightning from the sky.

     “I, ah, I’ll let you be, then,” they said in a rush, stumbling out of the cabin and back down the stairs to the galley. Lucas was back and had a full mug of coffee, but Bard slipped past him, returning to their seat next to Penny rather than fawn over the captain. Penny leaned over and patted them between the shoulders.

     “It’ll be fine,” she said. “Your friend’s awfully prickly is all—just give her some space. If you need me to go up and kick her into shape I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

     “Oh, you don’t need to do that!” Bard said.

     Penny laughed. “I’m just teasing! Mostly.”

     Bard nodded, about to suggest a more nonviolent approach, when Lucas let out a guttural whoop as he chugged what had to have been his fifth coffee of the evening.

     “Ain’t nothin’ like the sea to keep a man’s spirits up,” he said, “even if the sea be wily as a gull with the brains of a second, smarter gull…”

     He glanced over at Penny and Bard, a twinkle in his eye.

     “Arr, me new matey, have ye had any of our good coffee this evenin’ yet?”

     “Ah, no,” Bard said, hiding behind a smile. “I don’t drink much caffeine. Green tea is about as strong as I go.”

     “Nonsense! Everyone aboard the Lady Arabica ought to try our famous beans! Lou, fetch the crewmate a coffee!”

     Before Bard could protest, Lou had a mug filled and slid it down the bar—Bard leapt out of their seat to catch it before it could fall off the counter and shatter. Their fingerless gloves staved off the worst of the heat, but the porcelain was piping hot, and steam curled against their chin. Despite their nerves, Bard breathed in the earthy scent—not unpleasant—and let a practiced smile grace their cheeks.

     Lucas came over and slung an arm around Bard’s shoulders. His breath was thick with coffee-bean stink.

     “Matey, tell me… y’ever seen a _mermaid?_ ” he asked.

     “Here it comes,” Penny said, rolling her eyes. Nina snickered behind her hand.

     “Ah, shut it, you scallywags!” Lucas said.

     “At least we’re not like Francis,” Penny said. “We actually let you go on with the story, even if we’ve all heard it twenty times before.”

     “Twenty-seven,” Lou muttered from the bar.

     “What’s the story?” Bard asked. With Lucas’s arm around their shoulders, they had to keep their coffee mug squarely in front of their chest—not a chance to surreptitiously stick it on the counter with the captain so close.

     Lucas sighed wistfully and put a hand over his heart. “I was just a lad, a no-name on some listless crew, when we found ourselves in the worst storm y’ever seen! Thunder n’ lightning, waves big as a mountain, all manner of chaos all around us! We ne’er stood a chance. The ship went down and we was all drownin’—I saw me life flash before my very eyes…”

     Bard gasped. Lucas winked at them and continued:

     “But y’see, that’s when I heard her. When the black came all around me, I heard this beautiful voice singin’ from the deep… and when I woke up, I was safe on some shoreline far from the wreckage. She saved me, matey! Her music… that husky voice of the deep… ‘tis the music of my heart, I tells ye.” Lucas paused long enough to drag a deep sigh from his chest. “‘Course, as fate has it, the mermaids all vanished for years and years after that storm. I ain’t never seen nor heard tale of one in over a decade. ‘Tis a modern tragedy, it is.”

     “What a good story!” Bard said. “I hope you can find the mermaids again—even just to say a proper thank-you.”

     “Arr, me too, matey,” Lucas said. “I even have it in me head to ask one of ‘em to marry me, given the chance…”

     Behind him, Nina snickered, and Lou thwacked her over the head with a spatula. Lucas finally removed his arm from Bard’s shoulders, but as he did, he eyed the untouched coffee in their hands.

     “Say, matey, you ain’t drinking your coffee,” he said.

     “Oh, haha! Right,” Bard said. “Your story was so interesting, I guess I forgot.”

     “Well, go on, then! You never lived until you have a cup of coffee, I say.”

     Bard twiddled their fingertips against the mug, eying the empty counter, but by now everyone in the galley had seen them holding the mug—there was no socially acceptable way to discard it without insulting the pirates’ hospitality.

_It’ll be fine,_ Bard thought. _It’s just like… a really strong black tea. Yeah. That’s all it is._

     They took a tentative sip.

     The coffee was unsweetened and dark as the inside of an oak barrel, but it was smooth, and nutty, and while it was bitter at first it had an earthy aftertaste that lingered on their tongue. Not unpleasant. Not unpleasant at all.

     Bard took another sip.

     “That’s the spirit!” Lucas said.

     Bard smiled. This wasn’t so bad. Coffee was almost overrated—everyone insisted it was a crazy caffeinated drink that only the ‘strong of heart’ could handle, but this was fine, haha, nothing out of the ordinary, just jittery legs and fidgety fingers and a leaping heart and the urge to sing and be loud, and—

     The night blurred.

     When Bard woke up the next morning, they had a splitting headache, a sore throat, and the distinct impression that no, they would never again have another _sip_ of coffee so long as they lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nina is the true chaos overseer
> 
> been busy w/personal stuff lately but I'm back! thanks for reading!
> 
> couple of callbacks/nods: in ch1, bard had oolong tea on their nightstand, which is what they attributed Eyala's dream to (caffeine!); Lucas says the storm was chaotic (overseer of chaos/tarakhe sea, general setting)


	14. Chapter 14

     By the time Miriam was awake and waiting on the docks for Bard, it was close to eleven, and she’d been given the unfortunate task of waiting for their sorry behind while the pirates went about their business in Tatango.

     “We’ll be at the market,” Penny told her, “and then the Crusty Bean in case you get bored and want to hang out with other people.”

     “I’m fine,” Miriam said. “The last thing on my agenda today is socialize.”

     “Suit yourself!”

     That was three hours ago. Now, Miriam stood in the shade cast from the galleon’s massive bulk and tapped her foot, waiting for Bard to show their face. She’d been minding her own business sulking in her hammock last night when Bard had suddenly started belting all manner of songs and ditties at the top of their lungs—and kept singing for what felt like an eternity. Miriam only noticed they’d shut up when her ears had stopped ringing.

_Why did they decide to have_ coffee _, for Eya’s sake?_ she thought, grumbling under her breath. _I hardly touch the stuff myself, and the brew these pirates stock in their galley is way more potent than anything they sell at the Eagle Café. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them was a witch in secret and these were their practice potions._ _Maybe Nina. She certainly has bright enough hair…_

     Finally another set of footsteps crossed their way down the plank onto the dock. Miriam tilted her chin up and tried to look as imperious as she could as Bard came into view.

     “Well, hel- _lo_ , sunshine,” she said sarcastically.

     Bard waved a feeble hand in greeting, stifling a yawn. “G—good morning, M’riam,” they said. Uncharacteristically dark creases hung under their eyes. “Did you sleep okay?”

     “I would’ve slept better if _someone_ hadn’t been singing for hours on end.”

     “Ah, I’m sorry—if it’s any consolation, Lou made me promise to never, ever touch a coffee bean again!”

     “Good enough,” Miriam said. Just like that, Bard’s posture perked up, their eyes bright and that damned silly smile on their face like last night had never happened.

     “Where are we headed?” Bard asked. “Is the nexus point here?”

     “No,” Miriam said. She made for the beach at the end of the dock, Bard tap-dancing at her heels. “I just arranged for a ride out here since it’s in the Tarakhe Sea. The nexus point is on an uninhabited island at a place called the Lost Waterfall—but we still need the song before we even think about sailing there.”

     “Oh.”

     Bard took the news in stride, dancing ahead of Miriam onto the sand. She sighed. This had been a long enough morning, and something in her gut told her it would be an even _longer_ day.

     “Okay. You told me you were ready to get serious about this whole ‘saving the world’ business. I need you to _focus_ , Bard.”

     Bard clicked their heels as they danced.

     “That means _stop dancing,_ and _listen_ to me!” Miriam snapped.

     Bard stumbled and kicked up a clod of sand as they awkwardly planted their feet. Their smile only faltered for a second.

     “Right!” they said. “Overseer’s song, Lost Waterfall, Earthsong piece, save the world!”

     “…Right,” Miriam said. “The only issue is, I have no idea who would know the Overseer’s song out here. Langtree was easy because of the Mayor—and you stumbled into the one in Delphi for helping out a skeevy band manager.”

     “Manny isn’t skeevy…”

     “Sure, sure.  My point is this is going to be harder. Tatango’s a merchant island—from what the pirates told me, anyway. No one’s in charge. They all sort of govern themselves individually, trading this and that and bartering away their goods. There’s no central authority who might know about the song. If we want to find it, you’re going to have to do your… people… thing.”

     Bard tilted their head. “You mean talking?”

     “Yes, that. I hate crowds. And that market—” She pointed up a gently sloped cliff at the pointed tent stands of Tatango’s main market, white as seafoam in the blistering sun. “—is _full_ of ‘em, so I’m staying out of it. I’ll fly around and see if there’s anything else worth something on this island. Stuff that _doesn’t_ involve talking to people.”

     She shifted uncomfortably; even in Penny’s borrowed clothes, the heat made her skin itch, and the humidity crept up her back like spiders. Bard was looking at her. And for a moment, the whole world turned its eyes on her, too, and Miriam was suddenly intimately aware of what she’d let slip in conversation last night in the cabin and how her home was miles away across the sea.

     The moment passed. Bard smiled and gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

     “You can count on me, Miriam!” they said. “I’ll find that song by the end of the day, just like in Delphi!”

_Sure seems confident,_ Miriam thought as Bard jogged ahead towards the market. Miriam started to follow, but after a few steps her feet dragged and she stopped under a copse of palm trees. Wax-leaved bushes brushed against her shins; the shade was welcome compared to the sun, but Miriam couldn’t shake that crawling feeling running up her spine. She rubbed her arms. _I hope they work their charm and get that song like they said, because it’s way too hot out here, and—_

_—and I want to go home,_ she realized, _but only after I save the world first. I can’t go back to Grandma Sapphy as a failure._

     After a few more minutes, Miriam went back to the Lady Arabica for her broom and shot off into the sky, leaning into the ocean breezes and letting them ruffle her hair.

     She spent an hour circumnavigating the island. Tatango wasn’t particularly large, but Miriam wanted to make sure she didn’t miss any potential clues, so she’d periodically dismount and thwack her way through the undergrowth of the lush jungle covering half the island to investigate. Her broomstick was covered in trails of vines and speared with leaves that Miriam would shake off before she continued her search, leaving green streaks on the wood.

_Stupid tropical jungle_ , she thought, bushwhacking up a particularly steep trail. _Why can’t you be a more civilized forest like the maples back home? At least_ those _trees don’t have vines criss-crossing every inch of their trunks, spilling out onto the forest floor, making people who just want to go for a walk tr_ ip—!

     She yelped and landed face-first in the soil; one of the vines she’d been berating had caught around her foot and yanked her to the ground. Miriam scowled at it and pointed her finger, ready to blast it to pieces for getting dirt over her clothes.

_Don’t hurt it!_ said a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Bard. _It didn’t mean any harm; it was just growing that way when you came along._

     “Ugh,” Miriam said, rolling her eyes—but she got up and settled to give the plant a daggerlike glare before leaving it behind. “Stupid Bard.”

     The trail evened out into a small clearing fringed by umbrella trees and banyans. Brightly colored flowers poked their heads out of the undergrowth in a spiral that looped in from the tree line and converged on a small wooden hut in the center of the clearing. The hut was a modest thing with a conical roof woven from reeds and palm fronds and slicked with wax to keep out the rain. Dark wood made up the walls, striped and reinforced with woven fiber, and a thin trail of smoke wisped its way out of the roof like a slumbering volcano.

     A painted wooden sign hung over the entrance:

 

Calliope’s House of Fortune!

Your Questions, Answered

Your Mysteries, Solved

\--CLOSED FOR APOCALYPSE--

 

     Judging by the fact that the door was ajar and voices babbled inside, Miriam guessed whoever was in there didn’t read the fine print. She came up to the door frame and immediately ducked around the side of the hut.

     Bard was in there.

     Talking to a _weirdo_ with a _skull_ as a _fashion accessory_.

     Miriam held on to her broom and carefully patrolled the hut, searching for a better place to eavesdrop. A small square gap in the wall served as a window; keeping low to the ground, Miriam crept up under the sill and risked another peek inside.

     The interior was nothing unusual—Miriam had seen plenty of witchy trinkets around Grandma Sapphy’s place in her time, even if all the skulls were a bit much—save for a beautiful quartz orb on a pedestal in the center of the room. It cast a soft orange light around the hut, but as the fortune-teller walked over and ran her hand across its surface the light turned a deep, uneasy purple.

     “Didn’t you read the _sign_?” she asked.

     Bard, who was standing just inside the half-open doorway, shook their head. The girl sighed.

     “Nya-ha-ha! I am Calliope, Seer of the Stars!” she said with a flourish of her skirts. She looked to be five feet tall on a good day, with sunkissed brown skin and dark hair pulled back under that creepy skull mask. Her red-and-black skirts were too long for her and made it seem like she had flown up from magma. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “ _But_ , as of right now, I am Calliope, packing-her-bags-so-she-can-leave-this-stupid-island.”

     “That seems like an awfully long title,” Bard said.

     “Does it? Well, it’s accurate.”

     Calliope kicked a suitcase, spilling socks onto the floor.

     “Ah, dammit, and I had just organized them all by color, too…”

     Miriam stifled a laugh; this ‘seer’ or whatever she called herself was hilarious. Bard must have talked to everyone in the market already and came out to try their luck with the jungle.

     “I just wanted to know if you knew anything about the Overseer of Chaos’s song,” Bard continued. “If you’re busy, I can come back another time, but it’s kind of _really_ important to find the song so I can talk to the Overseer and maybe learn the Earthsong and save the world before it ends?”

     Calliope snorted. “No one in town knew it, right?” she asked.

     “Well, no—”

     “Then what makes you think I would?”

     Bard bit their lip; Miriam almost felt sorry for them. This girl was digging in to them without a shred of pity. Calliope added the last sock to her suitcase and wandered to the far side of the hut, picking up and depositing stones until she found ones she wanted to pack.

     “Listen, you thinking you’re gonna ‘save the world’ is kinda cute—in a naïve, puppy-dog kind of way—but it’s not gonna happen. I can divinate just about anything, and there’s literally no future where the world doesn’t get destroyed. But I can humor you. Overseer’s song, right? Coming right up…”

     With a slithering swish of her skirts Calliope went to the quartz orb and rubbed her hands across it in cyclical motions; the hut turned deep red, then cascaded through shades of oceanic teal and blue before settling on a kelp green. Bard leaned in and got a smack on the nose.

     “No touching,” Calliope said. She closed her eyes and let the orb change colors a few more times before she lifted her hands and clapped them together.

     “I’ve got it!” she exclaimed.

     “Really?” Bard asked.

     Calliope cackled. “Easy-peasy! Apparently the mermaids know it, which… is too bad, since they all disappeared thirteen years ago and no one knows where they went.” She shrugged. “

     Bard bit their lip again; Miriam wanted to reach in and smack them herself. It might be a nervous habit, but if they kept that up, sooner or later they’d taste blood.

     “That’s what Lucas told me, too—not about the song, about the mermaids,” Bard said, a twinge of sadness in their voice. “Are you sure you can’t divinate where the mermaids went?”

     Calliope shook her head. “That’s advanced magic, kid. I don’t have time to spy on mermaids, and with the apocalypse and all, neither do you!”

     Bard leaned back on their heels and looked at a particularly interesting rock on the shelf next to them. They took a shallow breath.

     “That’s too bad,” they said, putting on airs. “I guess you can’t _really_ divinate _any_ thing, then. Just _some_ things.”

     Miriam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise—and so did Calliope’s. For the few days she’d known them, Bard had _never_ sounded as cheeky as they just did. The pirates’ swagger must have rubbed off on them.

     Miriam felt herself start to smile and quickly pinched her wrist to stop it.

     “I—I absolutely _can_ ,” Calliope sputtered. “I’m the best in the business! But that’s _advanced_ magic—I need an augment to be able to scry for them!”

     “Like what?” Bard asked.

     “The Mermaid’s Tear!”

     “I have to make them _cry_?”

     “What? No, it’s a gem. Split into two pieces.” Calliope held her hands up into a heart and mimed breaking them in half. “If you want me to find the mermaids, I’d need nothing less than their sacred artifact. And if you’re _really_ serious about it, I’ll give you a freebie and tell you where they are: the ruins of the Temple of Brine, and the Turtle Shores… somewhere. At least, that’s what the rumors all say.”

     Bard’s face lit up in an enthusiastic grin, and Calliope held a hand up to stop them before they could speak.

     “You better beware, though!” she said. “It’s a heroic sidequest kind of thing. Ruins are said to be haunted by a terrible monster that’s killed every adventurer who’s gone in plundering for treasure. Turtle Shores, not so much, but folks say it’s a mighty dense jungle out there. Look, I gotta stress this again, because you’ve got this dumb look on your face like you think you’re sooo special: the Mermaid’s Tear is destined to be found by a _hero_ —not a song dork like you.”

     “Oh. Well, you’ll be happy to know I _am_ a hero!” Bard said.

     Calliope grunted, unconvinced. Even Miriam stifled a snort.

     “And I’m going to find the Mermaid’s Tear, just you wait and see!”

     Miriam sighed, a pit in her stomach. She crawled backwards until she was well away from the window and the other side of the hut and then mounted her broom. She didn’t need to hear the rest—Bard would regale her with every minute detail the instant they got back to the ship. Might as well relish the peace beforehand.

_Ey_ a, _not_ another _stupid quest_ , Miriam thought, scowling as she rode her broom back towards the market center. _And knowing those pirates, they’ll be more than happy to go galavanting across the sea searching for lost treasure. Great. More delays!_

     She hovered over Tatango, bobbing in the humid breeze. Music and chatter swam to her in an indecipherable cloud that made her skin clammy and her fingers tense around the broom handle.

_No way am I going down there. That’s twice the crowd Delphi sees on a market day. I am staying_ right here _until I see Bard or those pirates, because no one can harass me with conversation when I’m in the sky._

     A seagull with mottled brown feathers swooped beside her and shrieked; Miriam yanked up on her broom and nearly smacked it with the handle. The gull flapped a few feathers loose, squawked indignantly, and then pecked Miriam sharply on the skull.

     “Ow! Get out of my airspace, you rat with wings—!”

     The gull squawked and went in for another go. Miriam dodged, held up a hand, and zapped the bird with the smallest blasting spell she knew. A puff of feathers exploded off the bird’s chest and it spun in the air. With a furious shriek it wheeled away towards the beach.

     Miriam stuck out her tongue at it. “Serves you right, you stupid bird,” she muttered.

     But when the gull came back with five other gray-and-white seagulls, pecking and squawking and raising all manners of hell, Miriam cut her losses and abandoned the sky for the relative safety of the docks.

     “Fine!” she shouted at the birds. “I’ll hang out here! On the stupid _docks!_ ”

     She grabbed a mussel shell and hurled it at the nearest seagull, clipping the bird on its wing. It dive-bombed her for one last peck before it flew away with the rest of its feathered friends, crowing victory.

     “Yeah, get out of here!” Miriam yelled. “Stupid shore birds! Delphi’s got you beat any day—”

     “Who are you shouting at, Miriam?”

     Miriam clapped her mouth shut, feeling her cheeks heat. Bard had snuck up on her without her realizing, them and the rest of the pirates who’d gone to the market to trade. Bard had a curious quirk to their smile, and the corners of their eyes were turned up in amusement.

     “No one,” Miriam said. She tugged on the sleeves of her borrowed blouse. “Took you long enough to get back—what did you find?”

     “We’re going on a quest!” Bard said. “Well, a different quest. According to this nice fortune-teller, the mermaids who disappeared from the islands know the Chaos Overseer’s song, and if we find the two parts of their missing gemstone, we can find the mermaids _and_ the song! Isn’t that great?”

     “Sure,” Miriam said, holding back a biting comment. Calliope certainly hadn’t been _nice_ —but if she let on that she’d heard them talk at the hut, it was as good as saying she _wanted_ to work together with them. That was how Bard would see it, anyway.

     And Miriam would never hear the end of it.

     “Yarr, the mermaids are out there, just waitin’ for me,” Lucas said with a faraway look in his eyes. He pressed a hand to his heart and stared at the island-studded horizon. “Don’t ye fret, lassies… Lucas is coming to see you…”

     “Alright, Captain,” Penny said, giving Lucas a hearty shove between the shoulders. “Let’s raise anchor so we can reach the ruins by sunset, eh?”

     “Right as always, Penny. Come along, landlubbers, let’s get the Lady Arabica ship-shape and sailing!”

     Lucas led the brigade back to the ship, one hand raised with an imaginary cutlass. Penny shook her head and whispered something to Francisco as they followed behind. Bard and Nina flanked Miriam on either side as they walked up the plank.

     “I’m just glad that Markus fellow didn’t start trouble,” Bard said.

     “Who’s Markus?” Miriam asked.

     “A real jerk,” Nina said. She jutted out her bottom lip and sneered at the sun. “He got all tough-guy intimidating on coffee-crazy here, but we told him to step off and he turned tail. I could’ve taken him, though! No one tussles with Nina’s crew!”

     “I’m glad you didn’t,” Bard said. “Even in my defense. No one should have to fight.”

     Miriam rolled her eyes.

     Penny and Francisco had the sails down by the time Miriam and the others boarded; with a bit of effort Lou, Nina, and Bard raised the anchor on its heavy winch and chain. The Lady Arabica drifted away from Tatango’s docks, facing the golden sun as they angled west.

     Miriam hung back as the crew bustled around her. The deck was bearable today, especially with the shadows cast by the masts and the heavy canvas sails. Miriam settled against the foremost mast with her back to the oncoming ocean.

     She was about to drift into a catnap when a soft hum wormed into her ears.

     Bard was sitting on the railing nearby, swinging their legs back and forth. They hummed an unfamiliar song under their breath, watching the waves, but when they caught Miriam glaring at them they blushed and faltered a few bars in embarrassment. Miriam eyed them long enough to make sure they’d stopped, but as soon as she closed her eyes again—

     “Hm-hmm, hmmm, hmm-hmm…”

     Miriam whirled to face them, her sharp nose crinkled in anger.

     “Will you _stop_ singing?!” she exclaimed. “Every Eya-damned second I’m around you it’s nonstop humming, whistling, singing, whatever! Can’t you be quiet for once?”

     Bard’s face fell. That bright spark in their eyes snuffed out.

     “Oh… I’m sorry, Miriam,” they said softly. “I didn’t realize it bothered you that much. Yeah, I—I’ll stop.”

     Before Miriam could consider an apology, Bard hopped off the railing and headed towards the stern. Miriam watched them go, watched the wind toy with the green capelet they’d refused to take off despite the heat, heard nothing but waves as the Lady Arabica sailed closer to the ruins.

     She closed her eyes and tried to nap. Sleep eluded her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> calliope: yknow like NYA HA HA
> 
> thanks for reading!


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